


Warm Blood

by ARMY_BRAT



Category: Monsta X (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Also hyungwon is your sassy grim reaper friend, Angst, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Fate, Fluff, Grim Reaper - Freeform, Mystery, Ok so it is a drama, Past Lives, Reader Insert, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Surprise Ending, Thriller, but which one?, kind of like a kdrama, reader falls in love with one member
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMY_BRAT/pseuds/ARMY_BRAT
Summary: If the other grim reapers knew about your obsession with Kpop, you would surely be the laughing stock of the afterlife. But honestly, you don’t care. If this is how you wanted to find happiness amongst all the morbidity and sadness of your job, then so be it.You’re prepared for an lonely existence, but everything changes one spring day as the dark ink of the hangul starts to appear across your skin.Seven familiar names.Seven souls fated to die.The moment you read their names, you knew you couldn’t take their souls.Now, everything has changed. But so have you.





	1. SPRING DAY

**Author's Note:**

> Because no darkness,
> 
> No season, 
> 
> Can last forever.

Being dead really isn't all that bad.

Well, it's not _ideal_ , but you suppose you lucked out, becoming a grim reaper and all.

There are definitely worse ways to spend the afterlife.

For one, you could be a vengeful spirit, doomed to roam the earth in complete misery for the rest of eternity. Or you could become a goblin, cursed with living an immortal life where you watch everything you've ever loved and care about slip away century after century.

Instead, your introduction to the afterlife was nothing more than a seemingly innocuous white room with your superior staring at you with a annoyingly wide smile. On the tidy table in front of you sat a set of keys and a leather portfolio filled with blank death announcement cards.

You got a brief, albeit shocking, explanation of the responsibilities of a grim reaper, and then you were sent on your way to figure out your new occupation on your own.

It hadn't been easy, but as strange as it was, it was _something_.

You could still remember the first time you were tasked with taking a soul. It was on old man, dying of a heart attack on the floor of the small restaurant he owned. His family was waiting for him at his grandson’s soccer match, but he was destined to never make it.

Instead, you had stood before him, shaking and nervous, unable to breathe, but then again you weren't the one who needed oxygen to survive. There had a been a lot of tears, mostly from you, and in the end, it was actually his soul that comforted you.

_”Don't cry for me, pretty girl. I'm so happy that an angel like you has come to collect me.”_

After that, things got better in tiny, almost unnoticeable ways. Sure, watching people die never got easy, but it gave you an appreciation for the small things in life- the wind in your hair, the smell of coffee, the first snowfall of the season, and the ability of human beings to love. You were dead, passed on, but you could still experience these things, however briefly, when you were allowed to have a physical form.

Your job would have also given you a new appreciation for your own life before it ended, but that's the thing- grim reapers were cursed (or blessed some would say), with not remembering their past life. It freed them from earthly attachments and allowed for clearer and more practical thinking.

Of course, just as in the land of the living, not everyone cared about professionalism.

Most reapers used this freedom from attachment to spend their off-duty hours to get drunk, overeat, and seduce unknowing men and women. Your superiors really didn't care much about the rampant partying as long as the quota of souls was filled by the end of the month and the paperwork was done.

All of that commotion really wasn't your style, so that left you with a very _strange_ hobby for someone who was technically undead. It is this hobby that has brought you out on such a fair spring day, walking among the living.

The sun is out, hitting your face and warming your usually chilled skin as you stroll through the bustling city of Seoul. You could teleport, but you enjoyed walking when in your physical form because you didn't get tired and the mundane action made you feel almost human again.

You are off-duty right now, which meant that your body was visible to mortals, but you didn't mind. You smile at the people roaming the sidewalks, out for their lunch break or shopping at the small boutiques lining the streets. Older women incline their head as you pass by, seeing nothing but a young girl with a grin and wind-blown hair. If only they knew death was walking among them, carefree and determined to get to your destination on time.

With renewed gusto, you continue walking, hugging your small backpack against your frame while music blasts through the earbuds stuffed in your ears. You sing all the way through Seoul, past the businessmen returning to work and the blocks of traffic until you see the looming silhouette of the Gocheok Sky Dome come into view.

All around, giant posters and banners announce the artist that will perform inside the arena later and you let out a breath of relief.

Somehow you thought you were dreaming.

With a grin, you tear off your backpack and dig inside the bag until you find two very necessary items for tonight. One, your P1 ticket, and two, your ARMY bomb with fresh batteries.

Yes, this was it. Your first BTS concert.

If the other Reapers knew about your obsession with Kpop, you would surely be the laughing stock of the afterlife. But with the promise of great music and the band’s beautiful faces smiling back at you, you didn't care. If this is how you wanted to find happiness amongst all the morbidity and sadness of your job, then so be it.

Though it was at least a good six hours before the concert started, fans are loitering outside of the Sky Dome, holding signs and practicing fan chants. You can't blame them really, the atmosphere was electric and had you been human, you might've joined them and made some new friends. But you were reluctant to get to know any mortals for obvious reasons.

It was never easy making conversation when their name could always pop up on your list of clients.

So, figuring you had some time to kill, you make your way along some of the back streets, taking in the scenery and enjoying the slightly warmer weather that the dawn of season always brought. The breeze caresses your face, stark against your cool face, and you sigh against the sensation.

You wander further and further away from the concert venue, but you're not concerned; you can always teleport there later if need be. Right now you were soaking in the experience, listening to the melodies floating through your headphones with your hands snugly in the pocket of your Bangtan hoodie.

You decided to wear one with all of the members’ names on the back and the original bulletproof vest logo on the front. It seemed like a good choice and it might even make you stand out more.

The thought made you smile. Tonight was going to be magical and even if you had to return to work the next day and the world moved on, you would always remember this moment. The moment that-

A familiar burning sensation on your right forearm snaps you out of your revelry and you push back your hoodie sleeve with a groan. Of course someone had to die right now. You couldn't have one day off work, could you?

Up the street, a black van with heavily-tinted windows comes into view and you grimace at the sight. Your client is probably inside, most likely about to die in a car accident.

You flip your arm over to view the flesh of your forearm, awaiting the arrival of the name on your skin.

You're still optimistic that you can pull this day out. All you have to do is escort this soul to the afterlife, fill out the death announcement card, and then make it back to the arena on time for the concert.

In reality, this is something you have done dozens of times, but everything changes as the dark ink of the hangul starts to appear across your skin.

There isn't just one name forming on your skin, but two-

No, three-

Wait, four?

Damn, five??

The last two names finish materializing and then you're left staring at your once bare flesh, now heavily inked and burning with the thick syllables of seven names.

Seven familiar names.

If your heart was able to beat, it would've stopped.

Behind you, the squeal of tires sends a crescendo of chaos ringing through the air, rendering you frozen with wide eyes. There is an earth-shattering crash, the sound of metal crumpling, the twinkle of glass, and the pungent odor of gas.

Slowly, you turn around to find the tragic scene- where there was once a bare street, there is now a nearly indistinguishable vehicle, rolled over on its side in a twisted pile of metal and small flames.

A few feet away on the concrete, the driver is unconscious, having somehow exited the vehicle, but otherwise unharmed.

 _He will live_ , you think.

No, you know, because his name is not on your list.

A deep chill runs through your body, signaling the loss of your physical form as you fade away into nothingness, and then, like so many times before, you're invisible and staring into the abyss of death.

Speechless, you make your way to the wreckage, leaning over the smoldering remains to peer at your clients through the blown-out windows.

The first thing you notice is that they are still breathing, struggling to hold onto life. Their chests are labored with wet breaths and their eyes are squeezed shut. There is so much blood blanketing their skin, soaking into the fabric of their expensive clothes.

_They are tanner in person._

Amidst the poignant moment, your mind actually has the audacity to think such a trivial thought. But you can't help it; you're in shock and the sight before you is heartbreaking, even to a Reaper who had no idea who these poor souls were.

But you do, and that's what makes it so much worse.

A soft groan calls your attention to the back of the van and you stare down, helpless as Yoongi lets out a tiny huff of air, shards of glass embedded in his skin. Crimson streams down his face from the lacerations and he weakly pushes against the seatbelt holding him in place.

And that's when it happens, he looks in your direction, and a second later you hear his gruff voice right beside you even though his physical body is still trapped in the van.

“What the fuck is going on?” his spirit asks you, narrowing his eyes in confusion at the wreckage in front of you. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, his bleached hair failing to catch the light.

Before you can answer, Jin joins him, followed by Namjoon and then Jimin.

Namjoon is the only one who seems to understand even a fraction of what has just occurred. The rapper practically tries to jump through one of the windows, screaming.

“Kook! Seok! Tae! Wake up! Please, wake up!”

But when his body passes through the vehicle and he can't grab onto anything, he stares down at his hands in shock. “Am I dead?” Namjoon asks, tears falling from his eyes and over his full, dimpled cheeks.

“Yes,” you reply gently, steadying yourself with an unnecessary breath.

It's then that the men finally take notice of you as the last three members of the band materialize as spirits. Finally, they are all here and it was time to do your job.

“Kim Namjoon,” you begin, swallowing down the rising tide of emotion in your gut, “Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok-” With great effort, you stop, feeling a wetness running down your face. Lifting your head up to the sky, you expect to see a soft spring rain, but a blue sky greets you.

It's then that your realize that you're crying for the first time in two years. For the first time since you took that old man’s soul as he thanked you for your kindness and asked for you to watch over his grandchildren.

He had thought you were an angel, but in reality, you were nothing more than the harbinger of death and pain. You shouldn't feel emotion, but you do, especially upon seeing the crystal tears falling from all seven of the men in front of you.

Taehyung pushes his way to the front of the group and looks you square in the eye. “Please,” he begs, his rose-tinted lips trembling, “This can't be it. We aren't done yet.”

His eyes are so wide and the color so deep and rich that you find yourself at a loss for words. You know what you need to do, what your job is, but something stops you from finishing reading off your clients’ names.

Maybe it's the music still blaring through the headphones that are now dangling around your neck, the tell-tale chorus of _Butterfly_  breaking through the silence, but it's more likely the agonized faces of the seven men in front of you.

The seven men who had given so much of themselves to you and to every fan around the world. Whose lyrics had made you feel whole again despite the fact that you were dead, that you couldn't remember anything about who you were.

In the dead of night when you sat alone in your tiny apartment, fully awake because you didn't need sleep, it was their heartfelt music that got you through the soul-aching loneliness.

To be honest, you needed them. ARMY needed them.

“Are we going to die?” Jungkook asks suddenly, his young face drawn up in anxiety. He is the only one who hadn't dared to look inside the van yet to see that he was already dead, his caramel skin stained with crimson.

You swallow hard before letting out a shuddering breath.

Their names still burned your skin beneath your hoodie, but you would happily endure the sensation for the rest of eternity if you could turn back time. If you could let them live.

You glance back over your shoulder at the carnage, taking in the tragic sight once more before making the most impulsive decision of your afterlife.

“Are we going to die?” Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his tone, his chocolate eyes roaming between his elders who refuse to look at him.

“Not today,” you find yourself replying before grabbing onto Taehyung and pulling him towards the van.

You're not even sure that your plan will work, but you have to try. With as much force as you can muster, you shove Taehyung’s spirit back into his body, watching as his physical form sputters back to life despite the blood loss.

Surprised, you stumble back, your chest heaving in amazement. You rake your fingers through your hair while turning to face a bewildered Namjoon. “Your turn,” you whisper as you tug on his oversized cardigan and practically slam him back into his body.

One by one, you replace the souls of BTS, not once caring about the agonizing burn of their names on your skin or the repercussions for such an act.

When you finally finish, all seven of them are either coughing up blood or screaming when the emergency crews arrive, but they are alive. And all seven of them are staring right at you from the confines of their twisted metal cage, their gazes intense but twinkling with appreciation.

A white-hot sensation rips through your body before the blistering heat settles on your forearm. You tear your sleeve away to find their names slowly dissolving from your skin, the opaque black ink dripping from your flesh and pooling on the asphalt below.

“They're still alive!” someone shouts in the distance. “It's a miracle!”

The sound of metal being cut open and pulled apart vibrates in your ear. Time seems to slow as the first of the band members is pulled from the wreckage.

It's Jungkook, and his face is sleepy but he wears the tiniest of smiles, his lips quirking up at the corners.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the air. He looks right at you. “Thank you, angel.”

A soft mist falls from the sky above, bringing this beautiful spring day to a close, and all you can think about is life- what it means and who decides to give it and take it away.

Behind you, a throat is cleared and you turn to find the tall, looming form of another Reaper, one you know extremely well. His sharp angular features are pulled taut and his light brown hair dances in the breeze.

Hyungwon purses his lips and shakes his head in disappointment. “Well, this is _definitely_  going to be a problem.”

“Problem” was an understatement.

What you just did could change everything.

What you just did _has_  changed everything.

For better or worse.

’Till death do you part. 

 


	2. COULD YOU TURN OFF YOUR PHONE?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you turn off your cell phone?
> 
> Everyone says it’s smart,
> 
> But we’re all getting dumber.

“So, I think it's safe to say that you've fucked up.”

With a groan, you pick your head up from the smooth surface of the cafe table to level an acidic glare at the Reaper across from you. “It's bad, isn't it?” you lament, running your restless hands through your hair.

Your friend purses his full, rosy lips and merely nods, narrowing his eyes at the table. It's at times like this that he looks almost like the arrogant youngest son of a wealthy CEO, all sharp angled features and perfectly coiffed hair.

His lack of verbal retort immediately sets you on edge. “Hyungwon,” you whine, annoyed and just so…so… anxious.

You have absolutely no idea what possessed you to bypass a client, you've never even knew that was possible, but here you were, in a downtown Seoul cafe sipping an americano while the TVs played the news of BTS’ accident turned miracle.

Ok, so you know why you did it, and it's impossible to stop thinking about it.

You liked the band, sure, but at the crash scene you had been overcome with such raw emotion unlike anything you've ever experienced before. There had been so many clients that you helped lead to the afterlife- the elderly, youthful, sick, and even children- but you had never felt so personal about strangers.

 _It’s because of their music_ , you had assured yourself, walking away from the scene while sirens blared and people shouted. The lyrics made you feel like you knew them.

But you didn't know them. You shouldn't have cared. Fate had a plan and you just completely fucked it up.

“ _Jagi_ ,” Hyungwon begins, trying to comfort you with a term of endearment that honestly doesn't make sense given your relationship. “Just relax. You still have a month to make quota. I'm sure they will show up on the list again soon.”

Opting to ignore the obvious elephant in the room (the fact that you don't want to take their souls), you focus instead on distracting your remorseful mind. “Don't call me that. We aren't even dating,” you quip, watching as your insult doesn't even faze your friend.

He looks composed, cool as ice, like he's modeling for some barista-themed photo shoot. “Well I'm not calling you ’Seven’ forever,” he finally replies, pursing his lips around the straw of his iced coffee. “The fact that they name us after our assigned districts is stupid to begin with. Not everyone can be as blessed as me.”

You can't help it. You roll your eyes, reliving _t_ _his_  conversation all over again.

See, Hyungwon really isn't “Hyungwon” per se. Like all Reapers, he doesn't remember his past, but he adopted the name after discovering the death of an idol that looks _remarkably_  similar to him. After some extensive research, your friend became completely convinced of his former life.

 _”Of course I would've been an idol,”_  he had boasted, scrolling through through numerous images of the man and his band, who dubbed themselves Monsta X. _“It says here that I was also a successful model pre-debut due to my handsome looks and charming nature.”_

You had to admit, the Reaper was incredibly charming. So much so that you don't even remember him paying for a single coffee since you've known him. That was quite impressive, since the cafe staff consisted of both men and women.

But that's really not the point.

The point is, that he’s one hundred percent right.

You will have to take their souls. It's fated for them to pass away, be it a car accident, being mobbed by fans, choking on ramen, etc. When it's time to go, it's time to go. And eventually, their names will find their way back onto your skin.

Well, at least you hope.

It's been two days since the accident and you haven't had one client. Not a single one in a world where people are constantly kicking the bucket.

“I think I'm broken,” you mumble, staring at the crumbs littering the table. “I haven't had a client since it happened.”

This seems to startle Hyungwon out of his revelry. “What? That's… impossible.”

You nod solemnly, grimacing against the rise of a new question that had only been teasing the edge of your mind for days.

“Oppa, what do you think will happen if I… don't take their souls?” you question, bringing your gaze up to meet Hyungwon’s dark chocolate eyes.

Your friend quirks a brow beneath the fringe of his caramel-colored hair and chews at his bottom lip. “Well, besides the obvious of fucking up fate and destiny and whatnot, I guess maybe you could be fired?”

You have to snort at that. Just what does being fired as a grim reaper look like? You're already dead so…. would you just move on?

“Fired,” you mumble, pouting at nothing particular. You hear Hyungwon shuffle in his metal chair and you half expect some sarcastic remark, but he’s gone silent. Giving him your full attention, you take in his furrowed brow, the twitch of his nose, and the way he worries his lips between white teeth.

Hyungwon is always composed. Hyungwon is never without a retort.

“Oppa?” you whisper, trying to draw the other’s attention, but your friend shakes his head slowly and tries to dismiss your inquiry by remarking on the cafe’s terrible customer service.

“Do you see the way the staff is staring at us just because we've been here for hours?” he huffs. “Seriously, we come here everyday and practically pay the bills and they have the audacity to-”

“ _Jagi_?” you try again, sweetly.

This immediately freezes Hyungwon in mid bitch-fest, his insult intended for a barista dying on his tongue. His gaze immediately drifts down to the table and he swallows hard. “Look, I didn't want to say anything because I thought you would resolve this whole… thing… but there’s something you may need to keep in mind.”

“What?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Hyungwon squeezes his eyes shut and blurts out what has obviously been heavy on his mind. “I know they don't tell us much about being Reapers, but one of the elders in Daegu was at the last Christmas party and he told me something very interesting about our past lives,” he practically rambles, seemingly without taking a breath. He pops one eye open in fear, only to see you staring back at him in utter confusion, so he continues. “The guy has been doing this for _centuries_  and he said that in order to become a Reaper, you have to have committed a terrible sin in a past life. If for some reason you stop existing as a Reaper, then you are sentenced to an eternity in hell.”

Leave it to Hyungwon to render you speechless and bewildered.

“I guess this job is like our penance and maybe we will work our way up the ladder or something,” he finishes, watching you with careful eyes.

Processing his words, you blink repeatedly, feeling a strange gnawing anxiety coiling in your gut.

So, it turns out you could get “fired” and end up suffering in hell with actual fire, but that's not the part of Hyungwon’s nervous babble that has upset you.

_A terrible sin in a past life._

A terrible sin? You died so young- at least you look fairly young- so just what the hell did you do?

Shaking your head violently, you try to clear the question out of your mind immediately. You don't want to know. They don't just hand out Reaper jobs like candy at Halloween. Whatever you did must've been so horrific that you've been given an eternity to try and make amends for it.

Your mortified expression must bother your friend because he speaks up quickly, leaning over to pinch your arm. You jump back, startled, but he now has your attention.

“I don't know if I believe the old bastard,” Hyungwon admits, a wry smile quirking on his lips. “I mean, what sin could an idol have possibly committed? Being too handsome and talented? Breaking too many hearts with just one gaze and these long, sexy legs?” He laughs then, a high-pitched sound that actually does wonders to relieve your stress.

“Oh, please don't tell me that you still watch the dance practice videos,” you groan, bracing yourself as another wave of uncontrollable laughter spills from his lips. The entire cafe is staring now- some patrons are subtle about it, while others are outright gawking.

Hyungwon tries to calm himself, a long-fingered hand resting on his stomach. “Of course I do,” he chirps. “I was so fucking talented.”

This elicits a giggle from you and minutes later, you both have moved on from heavier topics and it almost feels normal, the same routine that you and he have fallen into for almost two years now.

But as the sun begins to slant through the ivory blinds and into the cafe, a silence falls between you too and it isn't long before you find Hyungwon staring intently at you.

“Be careful,” he warns, eyes steady and unblinking. “Just let things happen naturally and everything will be ok.”

You nod solemnly, watching your friend rise to his feet and stretch his lean frame. He fluffs his hair, wipes his mouth of with the back of his hand, and gives you a warm grin.

“You might want to pay for both of our drinks,” he suggests, awkwardly looming above the table.

You narrow your eyes in confusion. Since when did he have to pay for coffee? The barista working tonight has a huge crush on him…

In reply, Hyungwon pulls back the sleeve of his light trench coat to reveal the dark ink scrawled across his forearm. He cocks his head and takes his leave, sashaying down the rows of tables with a wave.

Gaping, you realize just how much of an asshole he can actually be.

That bastard has been invisible from the moment you met him in the cafe, leaving you talking to yourself in front of the other patrons.

“I really hate you sometimes!” you yell after him, angrily digging money out of your small backpack, without any regard to the sets of eyes now on you.

Well, there goes another cafe.

You've been meaning to cut back on caffeine anyway.

* * *

 

Thank the deity in the sky because you finally have a client, and not even a day after your little chat with Hyungwon.

You're so relieved, you don't even mind the plethora of questions the woman throws in your direction as you stroll down the bustling hallway of the hospital. Behind you, multiple doctors are trying to resuscitate her physical body.

“She’s flat-lining! Hurry!”

You make your way further into the cardiac wing, passing by several patients carefully walking the halls, testing out their stamina after surgery.

“Sorry for all the questions,” the woman, Seulgi, apologizes. She’s barely thirty but has the energy of a giddy teenager, even in death. “I just always pictured a tall guy in all black with, like, a knife on a stick.”

 _Scythe_ , you mentally correct your client, but still nodding along to her rambling.

“But you're cool too, like, you're actually really pretty,” she finishes, a bright grin erupting on her face.

You would marvel at her sunny disposition given the situation, but more than likely she is relieved at not having to be confined to a bed for most of her life.

Chronic heart conditions will do that to you.

“Thanks,” you reply, genuinely blushing at the compliment. You briefly wonder if you've ever even heard such flattery before. Hyungwon commenting that your ass looks good in skinny jeans definitely doesn't count, you decide.

Seulgi beams at your response before stopping dead in the hallway and gesturing around grandly with her hands. “So? What now? I float off into the clouds or sprout angel wings or something?”

She looks so excited, her small half-moon eyes crinkling in anticipation. Such a client surely is a breath of fresh air, especially considering recent events.

You're about to recite the incantation that moves souls from one dimension to the next, starting with her full name, but a sudden shout startles you.

Down the hall, two young girls are being dragged towards the elevators by bulky men in black suits. The teenagers are whimpering in protest, screaming and kicking, while the men seem entirely unfazed.

“I definitely won't miss that,” Seulgi comments, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Ever since that idol group ended up in the ICU, girls like that have been trying to sneak in every day.”

You're grounded to the floor but your head suddenly feels light despite not having a beating heart to speed up your blood flow. “BTS is in this hospital?” you question, trying your best to seem casual.

If they were indeed in the vicinity, then you had a problem, or a solution, really. Just being near them could trigger fate, causing their names to appear on your skin once more. Fortunately, you were already entertaining a client, so the odds of that were slim to none.

“What floor is the ICU?” you ask, watching Seulgi ogle a particularly handsome doctor strolling by.

Your client doesn't seem to register the strangeness of your question, looking on after the surgeon. “Uh, the floor above this one?” she answers distractedly.

Above you. BTS was above you and you didn't have to worry about taking their souls at the moment.

You know better than to be impulsive once more, considering you were in this mess to begin with by letting down your guard and becoming emotionally vulnerable, but once again, you found yourself drawn to the seven men.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Seulgi shouts, and you're startled to find that you've walked several feet away toward the stairwell without thinking.

You turn to your client with an apologetic bow. “I'm sorry, but I have to do something really quick. Maybe you could watch over the staff for a bit?” you suggest, inclining your head towards “hot doctor”, who is leaning up against the nurses’ station, his scrub pants pulling dangerously taut on his ass.

Seulgi doesn't need to be told twice and within a few minutes, you're on the next floor up, gliding past mortals who are oblivious to your presence.

It becomes obvious when you reach the section of the ICU that the band is in, because security is everywhere with stoic faces and crossed arms. A few nurses and doctors linger in the hallway right in front of the boys’ room, and you can't help the pique of curiosity as you overhear their discussion.

“Honestly, they don't belong in ICU,” a doctor declares, rubbing the back of his head in bewilderment. “Their injuries are severe, yes, but it's as if their bodies haven't caught up with the trauma yet. All of their tests are positive, their vital signs are great and none of them are complaining about pain.”

The other doctor, a woman, grimaces at her colleague’s observation. “So what should we do?” she asks, sounding exasperated. “What you're describing is medically impossible. But I do see what you mean. The wounds are there, but there are no effects. Maybe…. maybe it is a miracle.”

“It's either that, or someone above is really looking out for them.”

You let out a heavy sigh. This was all your fault, and yet you were being praised around every corner. Others’ joy was now your possible failure.

Composing yourself, you float past the security and into the room, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Seven beds are crammed in here, which you suppose is actually a large birthing suite turned ICU room. Machines beep consistently in the background while soft snores filter between the sounds every now and then.

For a moment, you just watch them sleep, so vulnerable and fragile. They are no longer covered in blood, but small stitches are on their foreheads, necks, and arms. They look pallid and exhausted, deep rings of purple under each set of eyes.

But in a way, they're beautiful. They're alive and now a symbol of hope among their fans if the number of flowers in the room is any indication.

“You came back.”

Namjoon’s strained voice catches your attention among the relative silence. You turn to him slowly, checking your forearm in anxiety.

Yep, you still have Seulgi’s name on your skin, inked in fat, curving syllables, so how can Namjoon see you?

“You can see me?” you ask without thinking, mentally berating yourself for possibly the most cliche question ever.

Namjoon’s dry, pale lips quirk up into a small smile and he nods, dark eyes boring into you. “I didn't think you were real, but here you are,” he whispers before looking up at the IV drip hanging on a pole above his bed. “Either that or this is some good shit they're giving us.”

You have to laugh at that, despite your better judgement. There’s just something about the way Namjoon’s speaks, his mannerisms, that instantly puts you at ease.

The room falls silent again, but you're still staring at your ex-client, a strange feeling bubbling up inside your chest. His skin looks dull, ashy even, and the underside of his head is shaved, making way for a number of long stitches winding around his neck.

You don't know why you're still here or why the next words fly out of your mouth.

“How are you feeling?” you ask quietly, wondering if the others could even be woken by your voice or if only Namjoon can see you.

The man chuckles weakly at the question, resting his head further back into the pillow. “I've had better days,” he remarks dryly, but there's a sparkle in his chocolate eyes that won't seem to fade. “But, to be honest, I feel lucky. Lucky that we're all alive and lucky to have met you.”

You're speechless, standing there in the nearly dark room, the embodiment of death being treated like something desired. It's a foreign feeling, and you try to savor it for later, so you can remember it the next time that you step foot on a playground with a child’s name on your arm.

“Thank you for saving us,” Namjoon finishes, watching you with unblinking eyes. His lips are parted and skin flushed, but all you can focus on is the unwavering appreciation in his gaze.

It does something to you.

“Don't thank me just yet,” you begin, shoving your hands into the light jacket hanging on your frame. “The truth is-”

“Don't tell me,” Namjoon interrupts, cutting off your confession. “I know you're probably not supposed to talk to us, but we just want to thank you. You have no idea how grateful we are.”

You're stunned once more, so much so that you can actually feel your eyes threaten to pop out of your skull. “Oh, ok, you're welcome then,” you sputter, composing yourself before turning towards the door. “I should go…”

“Wait,” Namjoon raises his voice over a fit of coughing. “This may be the painkillers talking, but could you come back, like another time? We all want to thank you in person and it doesn't seem fair that I'm the only one who gets to see you-”

You're certain that Namjoon continues talking, but you can't focus because your arm is suddenly on fire, the skin crawling with burning heat. You yank back your sleeve to find Seulgi’s name sliding off your skin, much the same way BTS’ did just a few days ago, and you watch on in horror.

And as always, you feel the rush of warmth that accompanies your physical form sliding back into place.

“Hey, are you ok? You look different now,” Namjoon muses from his bed.

No, you were not okay. Clients weren't just supposed to disappear. And just as you're freaking out, leave it Hyungwon to make the situation worse.

You're phone starts to ring in your pocket, and you know it's him because he’s the only one who has the number. You groan in frustration, fumbling to get the device out of your pocket.

“You have a phone?” Namjoon sounds amused by this fact.

After a few harrowing moments, you silence the phone and then look around in paranoia. Fortunately, none of the other boys have been disturbed by the noise, but Namjoon looks completely satisfied with his discovery.

“So, you're human half the time?” he questions, one thick brow cocked over his dimpled face. “So you really can come to see us. Just to let us thank you. Only one time, I swear. Here, let's exchange numbers,” he pants, trying to reach over to his bedside table to retrieve his phone. The effort seems to exhaust him, the thick veins in his throat bulging while sweat begins to glisten on his forehead.

Stepping forward, you urge him to lay back down, concerned about his condition.

“Please,” he begs, eyes so wide and insistent that you're tempted to look away. “Just once. Just let us all thank you.”

Hyungwon's calling again- you can feel the vibration in your pocket- your forearm is burning, and you can hear nurses outside, readying themselves to come in. It's too much; too much sensory overload and too much emotion rolling through your body all at once.

Anxious, you pick up Namjoon’s phone and type your number into a new contact box, pausing when it requests a name be assigned to the contact.

You stare at the screen, feeling Namjoon’s gaze on you, heavy and insistent.

For the second time in days, you make an impulsive decision that you know will be the death of you, but you can't stop your fingers as you type in one single word.

 **Angel**.

* * *

 

You're such a fucking idiot.

Really, truly, how could you let things get this bad?

Not only did you let BTS live, but now Seulgi was missing too, having returned to her physical body while you were chatting it up with Namjoon. Her name had reappeared on your skin for a couple minutes, allowing you to escape BTS’ room unseen, but by the time you made it back to the cardiac wing, she was already fully alive once more.

You were so distraught over the entire incident that you were even avoiding Hyungwon's calls and texts, no matter the urgency behind them.

What could you say to him? Everything was definitely not ok. And you knew the moment you explained just how deep you were in, he would show up at your door, one hand cocked on his hip and a lecture perched on his tongue.

You would argue most of the night until he decided to crash at your place, commandeering your couch to watch dramas in nothing but his expensive silk boxers and then demanding that you feed him in the morning.

No, the static silence was better until you could resolve your problem, which you fully intended on doing, you just didn't know how.

Two more days had passed since the hospital, and you were fairly certain Namjoon had forgotten your conversation. He was on painkillers at the time, so hopefully that worked out in your favor. You couldn't bear the thought of him wondering about you, curious about your life. You weren't a person. You were the opposite of good friendship material for a mortal.

With a heavy heart, you curl up on your couch, barely paying any attention to the drama you had decided to watch, in favor of staring at the wall numbly. Once again, your supply of clients has run dry and you can practically feel the flames of hell licking up your skin already.

“I'm so fucked,” you whisper breathily, pouting at the carpet.

On the coffee table, your phone buzzes to life, and you pick it up, already bracing yourself for another of Hyungwon’s sarcastic messages.

Instead you're greeted with this:

> **Unknown** : Hey, this is Namjoon. I just wanted to let you know that we're getting released from the hospital soon and that we could meet up sometime.

You blink repeatedly at the screen in disbelief as another text comes in.

> **Unknown** : If you still want to, that is. You really don't have to, it would just be cool.
> 
> **Unknown** : Not cool. I didn't mean cool. I meant nice because it would be nice to see you again. The others think I’m crazy but I'm not.

You giggle, envisioning him struggling to text the right words.

> **Unknown** : Unless this is not the person from the hospital….

God help you but your fingers are already moving across the keyboard.

> **You** : It is.

The moment you hit send, you're already cursing yourself. What the hell did you think you were doing? None of this was going to help in any way! This was bad. This was very, very bad-

> **Unknown** : Ok good. I was worried there for a minute. So… do you want to meet up?

Surprising yourself, you actually give it some thought before replying. On one hand, this was so incredibly stupid on your part, but on the other…. this could be your way out.

If you have no clients and you show up to meet all of them, an opportunity may appear to take their souls. It was morbid and terrible, but things were only going to get worse for you and apparently for every other soul on your client list.

This needed to happen.

With shaking hands, you type back a reply, your mind going numb to the sorrow threatening to overcome you.

> **You:** Sure :) Where at?

A smiley face? A fucking smiley face? Why did you did you put that when you're practically planning to kill them upon arrival?

You slam your phone down on the coffee table, groaning out of pure frustration. Surely breaking all these damn rules coupled with the fact that you were actively trying to get a group of men killed for your benefit was enough to warrant you a place in hell.

Honestly, maybe you deserved it.

Your phone buzzes again, and you gingerly pick it up, dreading Namjoon’s response.

Instead, Hyungwon’s sixth sense makes an appearance.

> **Hyungwonnie** : So I've come to the conclusion that you're not avoiding me out of dislike (because lets be honest, you love the shit out of me) but that you're ignoring me because you're up to no good.

Well damn.

He has absolutely no idea just how right he really is.

Another text rolls in.

> **Unknown** : I’ll let you know where to meet as soon as we get back to our apartment. I can't wait to see you again :)

He put a smiley face. This is not a drill- he actually put a smiley face and why the hell did that make you feel so good?

> **Hyungwonnie** : DO NOT DO ANYTHING STUPID JAGI OR I WILL PERSONALLY BEAT YOU WITH MY STICK.
> 
> **Hyungwonnie** : THAT WAS NOT INTENDED TO BE SEXUAL AND I’M STILL PISSED. CALL ME.
> 
> **Unknown** : Oh, one more thing. Jin wants to cook for you so please dress up for dinner.

Dinner? Like…. a date?

Your phone just keeps buzzing.

> **Hyungwonnie** : JUST KIDDING. PLEASE COME BACK. LET ME LOVE YOU.

You smack your head.

> **Hyungwonnie** : I’M COMING OVER. PREPARE FOR OPPA LOVE.

A second later, you hear a knock on the door.

Shit.

Just what did you get yourself into? 

 


	3. STIGMA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been hiding it.
> 
> I tell you something,
> 
> Just to leave it buried.

It turns out that Hyungwon's “Oppa love” is really just a combination of smothering you with awkward hugs and trying to determine the source of your distress with a never ending stream of questions.

Sure, he was surprised to find you unharmed in your pajamas, doing nothing more than texting on your phone, but your friend had narrowed his eyes in suspicion before beginning what you deemed Hyungwon's good cop/bad cop routine.

“Bad cop” always consisted of many straightforward questions delivered like one of those rogue officers in dramas, all bad attitude and “I'm going to find out anyway, so you better confess now, kid”.

It took every ounce of strength in your body to not check your phone during this conversation, wanting nothing more than to reread Namjoon's texts, if only to wrap your head around what you had just agreed to. Thankfully, Hyungwon never asked if you were meeting the boys or if you had run into them recently, so you were able to calm down his paranoia.

Once he deems that you haven't wronged the universe (to his knowledge) or put yourself in danger, he gets all fluffy, his usual abrasive demeanor melting away to reveal something akin to an older brother. A whiny older brother with way too much energy stored up in that lanky body.

“You would tell me if something was really wrong, right?” Hyungwon asks, sitting on the edge of your couch, deep brown eyes searching your face. “I know I'm a pain in the ass sometimes, but you're the only friend I've got.”

You're shocked.

Sure, Hyungwon isn't the easiest to get along with, being overly sarcastic, judgmental, and all-around moody, but he can be very caring and sweet when he feels compelled to. It's a different sort of charisma then when he is turning on the charm to flirt or get free coffee, and it warms a part of you that you're sure is an after-effect of being human.

“I'm fine now,” you assure, patting him on the shoulder. “I was worried about the BTS thing, but you were right. I'm just going to let things happen and everything will work out naturally.” You hope your voice isn't shaking, or that he doesn't notice the way your hands cradle your cellphone as if it were a small child, a precious baby.

Hyungwon watches you intently, plump lips parted as he breathes steady. His eyes flicker to your phone and he cocks his head. “Then why were you ignoring my calls and texts?” he questions, eyes still trained on your hands and the way you fidget nervously.

“I, uh, wanted to figure out how to handle things on my own,” you reply, growing more confident with each word. It's actually the truth; you didn't want Hyungwon finding out about your slip-up until you had a tangible solution, and now you do.

All you needed to do was go through with it.

Hyungwon narrows his eyes once more and then nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Well whatever works for you, Jagi,” he relents, shrugging off the conversation before rising to his feet and stretching out his lean form. “The night is still young though, so we should do something to cheer you up. We could get ice cream, or watch a movie about grim reapers and make fun of the inaccuracies, _or_ ….” he trails off, a wide grin stretching over his features.

You know what he is about to suggest and you pointedly shake your finger at him. “No, I'm not watching _NO. MERCY_  again,” you protest, standing up and backing away. “We've seen it a thousand times already.”

Hyungwon stalks you with amusement flickering in his gaze. “But I was so good on that show! It’s where my career as an idol started. Besides, you enjoy it, I know you do.”

You pause, halfway into your modest kitchen, debating on whether or not to open your mouth. You could correct your friend, remind him that person he watches on the tv and who he listens to on two-year-old albums is not him.

He is dead, a fact that his playful smile seems to contradict.

Instead, you decide to placate him, like he has done for you so many times before. It's a gentle give and take between you both and you're not keen on breaking that bond anytime soon.

“The only parts I really liked were the performances,” you admit, willing yourself to release the tension in your shoulders. “Especially the one with you and Wonho.”

Hyungwon is nodding along, smug grin poised on his lips, but then his face drops, becoming hollow and so _cold_. “His name is Hoseok,” he corrects, his deep tone coming out clipped and forced.

Blinking away your shock, you backtrack awkwardly. “Yeah, but Wonho is his stage name, right?”

Your friend purses his lips together, staring through you, and then just as quickly as it descended, the storm passes and Hyungwon is in high spirits again, though you can't help but notice how shaken he seems.

“Oh yeah, that's right,” he agrees, rubbing the back of his head, fluffing up his caramel locks. “How could I forget? Anyway, let's go do something. Actually, let me take you shopping. Do you need anything?”

You look around the apartment, trying hard not to harp on what had just occurred. Hyungwon had never spoken to you that way, but if the last few days had taught you anything, it's that Reapers can live complicated lives too.

“Not really-” you stop yourself, eyes lingering on your phone where you had left it on the couch. It's then that an idea occurs to you. And it's strange, and probably wrong, but you do in fact need assistance with something. “Oppa, can you help me pick out an outfit for a dinner?”

Hyungwon's eyes sparkle and he breaks out in a huge grin. He absolutely loves dressing people, though you've never actually let him have complete control over your wardrobe.

“Oh, Jagi, I think you've just made my afterlife.”

* * *

 

Despite it being a spring night, it's rather cold out, the breeze bringing with it a gentle chill that causes you to wrap yourself tighter in the plush velvet jacket that Hyungwon had insisted you wear with your dinner outfit.

You had to admit, the man had excellent taste; you were currently clad in a knee-length tea dress which consisted of black lace overlaid atop nude fabric. It was sleeveless, with a high lacy collar, but despite the odd combination, you ended up looking like some sort of elegant gothic royalty.

It was definitely not something you would've picked out for yourself, but after hours drifting through high-end designer stores and twirling in front of Hyungwon a thousand times, the Reaper’s jaw had dropped when you stepped out of the fitting room with this particular dress on.

 _”Well, this must be one hell of a date,”_  Hyungwon had mumbled as he took in the sight of you.

You were quick to correct him. _“It's not a date… just a thing I have to go to.”_

The Reaper had snorted at that, pouting out his plump lower lip. _“Must be one hell of a ’thing’. You look pretty damn good.”_

You had blushed at that compliment even though it had come from the overgrown green bean that was practically a brother to you. But like it or not, Hyungwon knew his shit when it came to fashion, and you felt rather confident going to meet BTS for dinner.

That was until you remembered why you were meeting them. In fact, the very thought was enough to stop you on the sidewalk, staring straight at the ground and rethinking this entire ordeal.

You could turn back now and come up with a different plan, wait until they accidentally fell into a river or something. The fact that you were planning on taking their souls over dinner seemed ludicrous now. How would their deaths even come about? They couldn't all choke on kimchi or accidentally stab themselves with a fork.

Just what the hell were you thinking?

You need to leave now-

“Mrs. Kim?”

A voice startles you out of your panic and you're met with the smiling face of a man just a few feet up the street. He’s dressed in all black and looks official, but you're not concerned.

Earlier, Namjoon had texted you the address of their apartment and said that someone would escort you up. When you had asked what story he would create for the reason of your visit, he had responded with a cool “I’ll take care of it”.

“The boys are waiting on you, Mrs. Kim. Shall we go up now?”

“Uh, sure.” you nod, falling into step by the man and following him down the street and behind a large building.

“My name is Sejin, one of BTS’ managers,” he introduces himself with a tight smile. “How lucky is it that Jin’s cousin works as a nurse, though you were probably very concerned when he showed up at your hospital.”

Sejin looks to you expectantly, but you're already processing his words. So that is your cover story: you're Jin’s cousin who works as a nurse.

Very clever, Namjoon.

Before you can reply, Sejin leads you around a corner and you're greeted with dozens of girls loitering around the entrance gates to the upscale apartments, where it looks like security is trying their best to contain the fans.

“Please Let Yoongi-Oppa know that I love him and give him my flowers!” one girl screams excitedly.

“Tell Jin-Oppa to feel better!” another shouts.

When you arrive, most of the girls stop their shouting and stare at you with bewildered gazes, their faces blank.

“Let the boys know that Jin’s cousin has arrived for dinner,” Sejin shouts suddenly to the security staff, a little too loudly, but you can't help but notice that the girls around you visibly relax at the statement.

Damn.

You would hate to _not_  be a cousin in their eyes. Some of them looked prime to kill.

After a brief security check, the staff parts ways and lets you and the manager in, and before you know it, Sejin is dropping you off at the front door with a polite farewell.

Now it's just you and the door left to stare at each other and it takes you a good few minutes to work up the courage to go through with your plan.

You could do this.

No, you need to do this.

It was fate; they had to die.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door and when it opens, you half expect to find Namjoon smiling at you. Instead, you're greeted by two very perplexed men; Taehyung seems completely mesmerized while Jimin seems downright afraid.

“I told you that Hyung wasn't crazy!” Taehyung shouts just as Jimin darts off further into the apartment, sliding on his blue socks. “Hey! You owe me some won and something Gucci!”

And just like that, you're left alone at the door again, your hand still raised in mid-knock. After a few seconds, the door creaks open slowly, revealing a smiling Jin clad in an apron. You suck in a breath at the sight of him.

He looks awful.

His cheeks are still swollen, with little cuts dotting the pink flesh. He’s got a terrible bruise creeping up the side of his neck, and his lips are severely chapped.

“I know you were expecting someone more handsome, but I swear I'll make it up to you with my cooking,” he chirps, grimacing when he apparently smiles a little too eagerly.

You finally find the words to speak just as Namjoon strides up to the door, clad in dark denim and a shiny button up shirt. “No, no, you look perfect,” you babble, eyes darting between the two men nervously. “You always look perfect.”

Jin giggles at the statement, but he looks satisfied with your answer.

“Well, Mr. Perfect, are you just going to leave our guest out in the cold?” Namjoon teases his elder before beckoning you in with large hands. He looks somewhat better than when you had seen him in the hospital, but the reminder of the accident is still present on his flesh: the swollen stitches crawling up the column of his tan throat and the short, buzzed hair on the lower half of his head.

Not that he looks bad. If anything, the impromptu undercut looks good with his pale peach hair and long, lean body. And those plush, full lips curving into a smile just at the sight of you…

Whoa.

What the hell was that?

Focus!

Fidgeting in your dress, you take in the surroundings, noting all the stylish and modern-looking furniture and elements in BTS’ new apartment.

“It's nice, right?” a bubbly voice asks from behind you.

The familiar tone instantly causes a smile to break out on your face as you turn, finding Hoseok- or is it J-Hope? - leaning against the entrance to what appears to be the living room.

The man smiles brightly, hands in his pockets, the very act contradicting the huge purple rings under his eyes. “I know what you're thinking and you can just call me Hobi, _Noona_.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. Did he just call you noona?

An uproar of laughter erupts from the living room and Taehyung comes darting out dressed in loose black jeans and a billowy white shirt. The sleeves are a tad too long, flopping over his hands in an endearing way. “Holy shit, hyung. Why did you just call her noona?” he questions loudly before slapping a hand dramatically over his mouth.

“ _Taehyung_ ,” Jin warns from the kitchen. “Watch the language around the guest.”

Pouting, Taehyung rolls his eyes but the action is half-hearted, and before long his attention goes back to Hobi.

“Well, I figured that she’s older than us, since she's an angel and all,” Hobi explains, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Unless you're a new angel, like you just died. Wait, is that how it works? Or are you born as an angel? Oh, but you have a cell phone so maybe you're half-human, half-angel…”

“Oh my god, would you shut the fuck up,” a gravelly voice bellows down from the top of the stairs.

Everyone shoots their attention to the figure. Jin doesn't bother to scold the harsh language.

Perched like a god, Yoongi descends from the stairs, slowly, like he’s the terrifying villain in a movie and this is his big reveal. His pale hand grips the banister as he descends, but his boot-clad feet are sure in their steps. When he finally reaches the bottom, he just stands on the last step staring at you.

The last time you really looked at him was when he had been standing at your side, the souls of the others still trapped in the burning wreckage of the car. He had been the first one to truly die and now you can see the toll it must've taken on him.

He looks even paler than all the whitewashed photos make him seem; in fact, his skin sort of glows, so unlike the ashen shade he had dawned at the hospital, curled up in a ball on the bed. He too, has multiple cuts, tiny stitches, and bruising, but it's his eyes that hold you captive.

You've seen the look of pure terror on too many faces to not notice it it flickering behind feline eyes.

Yoongi may not know your true intentions for coming to dinner, but his body is acutely aware, a survival instinct, and you can't help but feel burning guilt as you watch Jimin help his elder down from the stairs.

The rapper winces. He must still be sore.

“Alright, time to eat,” Jin chirps, coming out of the kitchen carrying a large pot. Namjoon is behind him with a large tray of meat. “Tonight’s meal is pork belly with….” the eldest trails off as he looks around with furrowed brows. “Where’s Kook?”

Jimin swallows hard, his wavy blonde hair bobbing with the action. He picks at the hem of his dress shirt before speaking up. “He said that he didn't want to come.”

Silence falls across the room and it becomes so startlingly quiet, you can hear all of their heartbeats. It's another perk to being a Reaper, but the sound is jarring to you- a reminder of what you must do tonight, which is to stop that wonderful sound.

And yet, your forearm isn't burning and their names haven't appeared on your skin. Just as you had figured, it was going to be difficult to take their souls when they were safely tucked away in their apartment.

“Tell him that it's rude to ignore someone who saved our lives,” Jin declares through grit teeth. His usual soft demeanor has hardened over as he stands with one hip cocked and the pot still in his hands. “Go get him, please.”

Jimin nods, eyes downcast to the ground, but you speak up just as he turns for the stairs.

“No, it's fine,” you blurt out, voice cracking. “I mean, he's probably still shaken up by the accident. Seeing me will probably make it worse.”

Wow.

The amount of concern you feel right now is alarming. Especially since you're here to essentially kill them, which you can't do easily if they're not all together, and yet here you are, caring about them. Which, when you think about it, is a huge part of your problem and you should really stop doing it. But Jungkook probably is traumatized and possibly could have PTSD or something. He's just so young, and then throw in the existence of angels on top of that—

Except you're not an angel. You're a fucking grim reaper, get your shit together!

“I should go,” you declare, wrapping your velvet coat tighter around your suddenly shaking form. Jimin is still in mid-stride from when you had stopped him earlier. “This…. is just weird and I'm making things worse, so…. yeah.”

You turn to leave, mentally cursing yourself for this entire ordeal, but a single deep voice stops you.

“Please don't leave. We need you.”

Taehyung sounds so forlorn, the timber of his voice filled with such sorrow that you find yourself unable to move. The sound breaks your heart and you feel water being to collect in your eyes, just as it had when you watched him act in that one drama with all the cute warrior guys.

 _“Ugh, this guy can't act worth a shit,”_  Hyungwon had groaned at the time. You ended up throwing a pillow at his head.

“We will just eat without him,” Namjoon suggests softly. “He just needs some time. Please stay. Even just for a little bit.”

You take in a deep breath and nod, robotically turning around and finding a place at the elegant dining table, shrugging off your jacket and placing it on the back of the chair before sitting. You only look up when a chorus of muffled gasps ring out.

Both Jimin and Taehyung are blushing, giggling to each other as they try to seat themselves. They bump into each other multiple times before finally taking their places. Yoongi makes a sound of disgust at the two but oddly enough, chooses to sit right next you. You awkwardly look out of the corner of your eye only to find him blinking blankly at his plate, hands poised on the silverware.

His heart is beating frantically.

Hobi sits directly across from you and offers a warm smile, though he cocks a brow in Yoongi’s direction, noticing the strange behavior of the elder.

Setting down the food, Jin claps his hands together before imploring everyone to help themselves. Namjoon takes your plate and serves your meal before uncorking a bottle of wine and filling your glass. You thank him with a smile, feeling like you're living in some surreal dream even though you don't ever sleep.

The meal continues on with light banter, mostly from Jin and Taehyung, who seem the most interested in your supernatural presence, asking normal human questions about the afterlife and such. You answer the best that you can, but the truth is that you're really limited in answers yourself, so you give them minute details, leaving out the true nature of your profession.

“So you basically live like us,” Taehyung observes, swallowing down his wine. “But sometimes you turn invisible to go save people?”

“Uh, yes. When I'm on duty, I transition into my spirit form and… help people,” you explain stiffly.

Well, it's not really a lie. You _help_ people to the afterlife.

Taehyung hums in approval, picking up another delicious chunk of pork with his chopsticks.

Everyone else nods their head, shoveling food into their mouths, all except for Yoongi, who is practically boring holes right into the side of your head with intense gaze.

“Why did you save us?” he questions, voice low and demanding. “When…. when I came out of my body… you looked confused. Like you didn't know if you wanted to save us.”

The sound of chopsticks clattering to the table jars you from Yoongi’s dark eyes.

“Yoongi, please don't-” Jin tries to interject, but Yoongi points a finger in the elder’s direction.

“Fuck off,” the rapper retorts, rather informally, and you can feel Jin bow up on the other end of the table. “Answer my question,” Yoongi demands, daring to grab your chin with one long-fingered hand and forcing you to look into his eyes once more.

You're stunned. No human has ever touched you like this before. No mortal would ever dare to—

Your forearm begins to burn from where it's placed limply in your lap. Carefully, you roll your wrist until the dark Hangul scrolling itself on your flesh comes into view. The ink doesn't even have to finish for you to know the name.

_Min Yoongi._

You swallow thickly before letting out a shuddering breath. Yoongi’s grip tightens, his chest heaving. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out along his nose, his throat, and his bared collarbones peeking through his shirt as he leans over. His heart is racing, on the borderline of a heart attack. His body is still weak from the accident and unable to handle the sudden stress.

“Hyung,” Hobi gasps, jumping up from his seat. “Calm down, calm down.”

Swollen veins are popping out of Yoongi’s flesh; your presence is literally going to kill him.

“I've got to go,” you practically shout, jumping to your feet and putting on your coat quickly to avoid any of the men from seeing the name on your skin. “Thank you for dinner!”

You make tiny bows toward each of the bewildered men at the table, even Yoongi, before you simply disappear into thin air, much too worked up to bother leaving the traditional way. You teleport yourself a couple blocks away, onto an empty street where the cool air calms your nerves. Your body is trembling, mind racing as you try to process what just happened.

What just happened was that you missed yet another opportunity to do your fucking job! Why the hell are you like this? Why did BTS have to be your clients? Why was the afterlife so cruel?

Groaning, you run your fingers through your hair. You hug yourself, pouting like a petulant child just as the gentle vibrations of your cell phone in your coat pocket breaks the tension.

You're a hundred percent sure that it's Namjoon calling, probably begging you to come back, but you don't think you can.

Instead, the name **Hyungwonnie** lights up the screen and you sigh. You're eventually going to have to tell him about all your fuck ups, but you definitely don't feel like it tonight. You ignore the call and stroll on down the road, wallowing in self pity.

He calls three more times before he texts, which has you instantly worried.

> **Hyungwonnie** : call me back please its important

Hyungwon never ignored capitalization or punctuation. You immediately call him back and are stunned when another voice picks up the line.

 _“Hello, is this Hyungwon’s girlfriend?”_ the stranger asks over loud, thumping music the background.

You press the phone tighter to your ear. “Girlfriend? Who is this?”

_“Oh, sorry if you're not his girlfriend. He had you in his phone as Jagiya so I just assumed…”_

“Who are you?” You implore again, trying to place the voice on the other end of the line. It sounds familiar…

 _“Wontokkeeee lesh meh talp,”_ you hear Hyungwon slur in the background before the stranger speaks up over him. There’s some rustling and the voice is back.

_“Look, he's really drunk and needs to get home but he won't tell me where he lives.”_

The music is louder now and you can definitely discern that Hyungwon is at some sort of club, apparently getting smashed with a stranger. Honestly, it's completely unlike him.

With a heavy sigh, you relent. “Fine, I’ll come get him. Just text me which club.”

_“Thanks. My name is Hoseok by the way. I'll stay with him until you get here.”_

Your already cold blood runs colder at the mention of that name. The name, the voice, Hyungwon's strange behavior, and the nagging insistence in your head—

All the pieces fall together perfectly, snapping audibly inside your mind.

Hoseok.

Shin Hoseok.

Stage name: Wonho.

Wonho from Monsta X.

You hang up the phone and stare blindly into the night, stupefied.

It seems that you're not the only one who is choosing to chase their demons and is failing miserably at it.

 

 

 

 


	4. DANGER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This magic spell,
> 
> Please be kinder,
> 
> I’ll recite it again today.

By the time you reach the club in search of Hyungwon, chaos reigns supreme inside. The place is packed, filled to the brim with writhing bodies determined to lose themselves in the undulating crowd, fueled by alcohol and sheer lust.

Out of all the clubs in Seoul, Hyungwon had to be at one of the more provocative locales, which was known to be seedy enough that most young women like yourself wouldn’t dare venture inside unless they were looking for one thing in particular.

You, on the other hand, just want to get home so you can process the night’s events and maybe finally figure out just what the fuck you were going to do about BTS. Not only had dinner gone terribly, but now your friend’s drama had begun to seep into your own complicated life.

A day would come when you would get your shit together, but it is not today, unfortunately.

A mass of bodies pulsates as you carefully pick your way through the club, music deafening and flashing lights nearly disorienting you with their intensity. The air is thick and humid and smells like a potent mix of cologne, body odor, and liquor- one of the main reasons why you haven’t made a habit of partying.

It’s just too much.

You’re lost in the sea of patrons, feeling sweaty bodies and wandering hands brushing against you on every side, but eventually you break through the crowd, noting the tables and secluded booths lining the back wall.

Sitting- or rather laying shit-faced- on a large velvet cushion is Hyungwon, dressed in grey skinny jeans and a silky black dress shirt, which is now clinging to his profusely perspiring form. He looks like a complete hot mess and not in the good way.

Leaning against the wall is who you assume to be Wonho, though he wears a simple jean and hoodie combo, with the hood drawn over his head and a black face mask covering most of his facial features. He perks up at the sight of you, motioning to the unconscious Reaper in the booth in question and you nod resolutely.

_Yes, that is my hot mess. I’ve come to claim him._

Wonho nods to himself before pushing off the wall and approaching you with a hand rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. “Sorry for calling so many times but he really needs to get home,” he apologizes, his slanted eyes crinkling up into little half-moons.

Lips pursed, you look towards your friend sprawled out on the booth like some sort of gangly, well-dressed hobo. Despite the vagueness of the situation, one thing was clear: you wouldn’t be getting many answers out of him tonight.

“How do you know Hyungwon?” you ask suddenly, surprising yourself with the annoyance laced in your tone. Just how long had the Reaper been in touch with what was assumed to be one of his former bandmates? How long had he kept this life hidden from you?

You both shared everything….. well, almost everything.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Wonho takes a deep breath under the mask. “It’s going to sound crazy,” he states, eyes snapping back to you, the club’s seizure-inducing lights reflected in the darkness there.

“I’ve probably heard crazier.”

Your statement earns a laugh from the man and he wrings his hands nervously before finally offering an explanation. “I ran into him at a coffee shop earlier today and.... he looks _exactly_ like someone I used to know. And when I asked him his name, I couldn’t believe it,” Wonho pauses for a moment, no doubt worrying his lip under the mask. “I know it’s impossible, but I think he’s the reincarnation of someone I really cared about, but lost.”

You’re about to refute his claims, if only to keep Hyungwon’s occupation in the afterlife a secret, but you swallow your words at seeing the absolute desperation in Wonho’s eyes. It’s funny how you don’t need to see all of a person’s face to read them like a book; the eyes can tell a myriad of stories far better than the mouth can.

When you don’t reply, Wonho fills the lull with more information. “He asked if I wanted to get a drink and I couldn’t say no. I just didn’t think we would end up here of all places or that he would starting pounding back shots like it was a race.”

Well, that is odd.

“Hyungwon rarely drinks,” you find yourself declaring, watching as your friend rouses from his inebriated nap, tendrils of caramel hair sticking to his face.

The moment his eyes flutter open, he lets out a pained groan and scratches his crotch before craning his neck in your direction. He blinks a few times and gives you a sloppy smile filled with teeth framed by plump lips. Even now, he could still be considered quite photogenic and you're ripe to be jealous if the situation wasn't so volatile.

“Jagi,” Hyungwon whines, reaching out towards you like a small child does when it wants it’s mother, and right now you certainly feel like one.

Beside you, Wonho cocks his head and looks between the two of you with an imploring gaze. Perhaps if you could see his mouth you wouldn't feel so judged, but you know how the relationship looks to the outside eye.

“We’re just friends,” you clarify, brushing past the stranger and over to Hyungwon who is now sitting up and pouting at you. A look of relief flashes in Wonho’s eyes, but you could’ve been imagining it.

It takes a lot of muscle to get Hyungwon off his drunken ass, but you finally do, slinging your friend’s arm over your shoulders and helping him shuffle forward on the slick, glossy floor.

“Wow, you’re pretty strong,” Wonho comments as you pass by and you thank him for the compliment before turning your attention back to the task at hand. You just needed to get to an alleyway so you could both teleport back to Hyungwon’s place without prying eyes.

“Wait!” Hyungwon suddenly screeches, whirling around in your hold to face Wonho. The action nearly sends you toppling over but you manage to steady yourself. “Call me sometime, Wontokki! I miss you!”

Wonho visibly jumps, clearly startled. He actually pulls down his mask, revealing his rosy lips and gently curved nose. “How... how did you know about that nickname? Miss me? Wait, come back!”

As much as you hate being rude, you run away for the second time tonight, hauling Hyungwon with you as he flops around like a fashionable rag doll. Your friend protests greatly, but you can't afford for him to cause more of a scene or dig up any more skeletons from his past.

By some miracle, you finally make it outside, gasping in the fresh, cool air as you maneuver you and your friend into a darkened alley. Pushing Hyungwon up against a brick wall, you lightly slap his cheeks. “Hyungwon, focus, we need to teleport to your apartment.”

The Reaper groans at your actions, but then his eyes are half-lidded, staring down at you with mirth. “I was right,” he manages to huff out without much of a slur. “I’m starting to remember.”

You stare back at him, your hand still poised on his clammy cheek. “Your past life? But how?”

Hyungwon breaks into a wide grin and actually giggles like a school girl. “I think it’s got somethin’ to do with lo—“

Just then, you both cry out in pain, frantically clutching your right forearms to your chests. In sync, you push your sleeves away to find identical messages scrawling across your skin and you nearly let out every curse possible at the sight.

This night couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“An emergency meeting?” Hyungwon questions while staring down at his arm.

In all your time as a Reaper, your superior had never called an emergency meeting. In fact, you’ve never even heard of an instance where such a thing has occurred. You didn't even know that your arm could be used like some sort of public announcement system.

“Shit,” Hyungwon exhales, blinking rapidly. “I’m too drunk. Seeing things.”

You let out a deep sigh and wind your fingers between his long, graceful digits. “No, Hyungwon, this is really happening,” you assure, pulling him closer to you. Looks like you would have to bear the brunt of the teleporting tonight.

Hyungwon stares down at you before looking towards the end of the alleyway and into the blackened night. You follow his gaze and notice Wonho leaving the club, talking into his phone as he walks the streets.

Just before you both dissapear into the air, you hear a muffled “I hope this is real.”

 

* * *

 

One would think that grim reapers would choose to meet in some sort of ghastly morbid place like a cemetery, funeral home, or haunted warehouse, but not your regional coworkers.

No, your superior, a trendy middle-aged woman whom everyone refers to as Zero, chose a central location that every district Reaper can easily get too in case of emergency.

And what unfortunate building is located right in the heart of all ten districts of Seoul?

**Hana Hana Preschool**

Ironic, no?

“Oppa, stop that,” you scold as you swat Hyungwon’s sluggish hands away from a plastic container of alphabet blocks the man had decided to play with in his inebriated state.

Around you, the other ten Reapers are gathered, sitting cross-legged on the giant fairytale-themed rug that sits in the middle of the daycare. The lights above hum with a eerie blue glow and you can't help but wonder how this place is even remotely comforting to children. Of course, you have always been here in the dead of night and not during hours more suitable to mortals.

Zero claps her manicured hands together sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. Hyungwon groans at the sound, but still continues to stack the blocks, lips pursed in concentration.

You sigh heavily.

Tonight had already been long enough without worrying that this impromptu meeting had something to do with your inability to do your job. You were one good scolding away from burning in hell forever.

“Sorry to bother you,” Zero intones as she pulls over a grown-up sized chair to sit in. She narrows her eyes and sweeps them over her audience, which consists of at least two other drunken colleagues not including Hyungwon. “I asked to meet because I've received word from the regional superior of Daegu that some strange events have been occurring.”

Hushed murmurs fall over your coworkers and you can feel your throat tighten in anxiety. This may not be about you after all, but anything strange involving the afterlife was never good.

Zero crosses her khaki-clad legs and launches into a clipped explanation. “It seems that they’ve had issues with clients’ names appearing and then disappearing seconds later, only to never appear again.”

Next to you, Six raises his hand like the school boy he used to be before he passed on to the afterlife. 

“Yes, Six?” Zero groans, cocking a perfect eyebrow.

“That's impossible, right?” Six questions, his voice high-pitched and uncertain. “Once fate decides to choose a soul, they can't escape that fate even if something intervenes, right?”

Zero nods her head, but her face is just as dull as she probably believes her job to be. “Yes, that's correct. Once fate chooses a target, their name will continue to show up until the soul is claimed, even if it takes years. But of course, our job is to ensure that souls are reaped in accordance with fate’s timing.”

“Fate’s timing?” you hear yourself squeak, voice wavering slightly.

Hyungwon looks away from his building project and gives you a strange look with his narrowed puffy eyes. He hiccups softly, then shrugs the moment off as he searches for a _hieut_  block to construct the first syllable of his name.

Zero nods her head slowly, squeezing her eyes shut and revealing a myriad of wrinkles on her aged face. “The names of clients appear when they do because that is when that soul is destined to move on to the next plane. It's the balance of life, and if one soul lingers too long, it can set off a chain of events that can be directly in contrast with fate.”

Swallowing hard, you try your best to appear casual, as if you were nothing more than a curious student absorbing useful information. Inside though, you're quivering, the realization that you might've done more than doom yourself to hell quickly sinking in.

The other reapers murmur their agreements, most of them looking annoyed or unaffected save for Hyungwon, whose drunken state is proving more than comical. Of course, now is not the time nor place.

“Hyungwon, put it down,” you whisper heatedly, eyeing Zero making small talk with Three across the circle. Your friend has picked up a plush rabbit from a child’s cubby and is staring at it as if it would reveal the meaning of life. You gently pry it from his long fingers to find a name tag dangling from its delicate pink collar.

 _Wonho_.

You're about to place the toy back in it's proper place, but the way Hyungwon’s dark eyes follow your movements softens your annoyance. His lips tremble, slightly tanned skin flushing with a dusting of rose. In the corners of his gaze, tears sparkle, but never fall. In the end, you hand the rabbit back and tear your gaze away before Hyungwon’s regret turns into yours.

“As I was telling Three,” Zero bellows, now addressing the rest of the group. “If a soul is not reaped properly, it can have catastrophic results.

“Lets say that a woman is destined to die of a heart attack on her way to work. But she doesn't, and she makes it to her office without incident. Now, since there was supposed to be an accident causing delays in traffic, but there wasn't, a man that should've been late to his job makes it on time, where his boss is struggling with the decision of who to lay off.”

Zero sucks in a deep breath, as if she’s practiced this particular story dozens of times.

“The boss had told himself that since he couldn't choose who to fire out of anxiety, he would lay off the first five people that showed up. That man shows up on time, gets fired, and now has no job to support his family, including his youngest daughter who is fated to grow up, go to college, and find the cure for cancer. But she doesn't, because she grows up destitute, and works as a waitress most of her life instead of curing illness,” your superior finishes with a flourish. She pauses for effect, leveling a stern gaze on each Reaper in the room. “One life could save millions. I know in our line of work, we don't usually focus on the living, but that is what balance means. We are death but we are also life.”

A heaviness settles over the room, the air thick with palpable tension. Even Hyungwon pauses, his fingers carding through Wonho-the-bunny’s fur.

You stare at the multicolored rug beneath you, daring your mind to ignore Zero’s warning, but you can't. If one soul can mess with fate so severely, then what about seven?

What if….

What if BTS dying was a good thing? Their deaths, though sad, could possibly inspire millions around the world to change their own lives, help others, save themselves …. who knew? The possibilities were endless, but that didn't make them any easier to stomach. Positivity could never outweigh the pain, especially for you, the person who now held their lives in your trembling hands.

“What does this have to do with what's happening in Daegu?” Nine asks, looking absolutely _finished_  with this conversation. Normally his behavior could be misconstrued for dickishness, but his district is the busiest of Seoul and so no one ever calls him out on it.

Zero smiles tightly, forced, before she lets out a long sigh. It's at moments like these that she probably feels as if she runs a daycare. “If a soul hasn't been properly reaped, then we would all begin to notice the ripple of after-effects in fate. The superiors in both Busan and Daegu believe this is what's happening to them.”

Well, shit. That's definitely your fault, and who knows how much worse it could get if you keep hesitating. What exactly have you done?

A sudden touch on your knee has you face to face with Hyungwon, who looks a little too sober now. He watches you carefully, eyes soft, but face full of concern. It's as if he can read your thoughts, can feel the apprehension rolling off of you in waves.

“So, in order to correct the problem- if there is one- the quota of souls will be double-checked and any name appearing, even if it's just for a second, must be recorded and submitted at the end of the month,” Zero continues on, as if you and Hyungwon aren't telepathically communicating right in front of her. “If the quotas and names don't match, then we will be forced to pay special attention to any names passed over.”

“Special attention?” Hyungwon questions, voice hoarse but still lazy with drink.

Zero nods, but her eyes grow cold, face blank. She opens her mouth to speak but is quickly cut off.

“The Black Reapers,” Two explains, flicking her long, dark locks as she does. “They're willing to do all the dirty work, right?”

“The Black Reapers don't exist,” Zero insists, but her tone is pitchy and her smile is a little too tight. “As I said, if we have any problems, they will be dealt with. Now, the meeting is dismissed.”

As the others begin to rise, dusting off their clothes before teleporting away, you help Hyungwon to his feet and turn a careful eye to Two, who glares at the back of Zero’s head. The young woman doesn't seem happy that she was put down in front of the group, but there’s a concern in her eyes that calls to you, makes you curious.

Sure, you all had heard of The Black Reapers before- they were the antithesis of your existence- but could such beings exist? Reapers that didn't take any heed to fate or construct, but stole souls out of some twisted form of amusement? Was Two implying that the souls that went unreaped would be claimed by such sinister creatures?

Before you can approach the topic, Hyungwon is tugging on your jacket with a look that signals that he's about to vomit all over your pretty shoes. He doesn't though, because he vomits on the plush carpet of his apartment just seconds after you teleport the both of you into the small space.

And thus begins a long night of caring for your friend, who by 2 AM swears that he will never drink again as clutches the cool porcelain of the toilet while you busy yourself with straightening up his dwelling, since you're _that_  bored.

And to be honest, you're still slightly pissed at him for not mentioning that he wanted to rekindle his relationship with his former bandmates, let alone practically force Wonho into a night of drinking. Of course, you had been less than honest with him, but that was _different_ , right?

Ok, so it wasn't different and you both needed to talk some shit out. But that could apparently wait, since Hyungwon just passed the doorway of his bedroom, bare-ass naked before collapsing into his bed.

You let out a sigh.

The only thing Hyungwon has to watch on tv is _NO.MERCY_.

It's going to be one hell of a night.

* * *

 

It's about five in the morning and you're digging through Hyungwon’s cabinets for something to munch on when a deep thrumming reaches your ears.

You perk up, a granola bar clutched in one hand, and listen intently, only to discern your friend’s groggy voice filtering through the apartment. Carefully, you step into the living room, brows furrowed, trying to figure out just who the hell he’s talking to. Himself maybe? That's a whole other level of drunk, but it's not impossible.

Furrowing your brows, you walk into the living room, searching. His phone is on the coffee table, so it's not a caller…

“What's your name again? Oh, _Namjoon_? Hold on… nope, she’s not in bed….”

You freeze, patting your body down in search of your phone, only to remember setting it down on the nightstand before helping Hyungwon into the bathroom. Instantly, you break out in a dead sprint, chucking the granola bar at your friend’s head right as your swerve into the bedroom doorway.

“OW!” Hyungwon whines, rubbing his temple. “Oh, here she is!”

Your friend holds out the phone, his expression groggy and unsuspecting. You would breathe a sigh of relief if not for the fact that Namjoon was calling you.

Namjoon, who according to fate, should definitely be dead and not on speaking terms with anyone.

Your gut twists violently as you bring the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

 _“Sorry to bother you and your… boyfriend,”_  Namjoon apologizes, and you can almost envision him shyly rubbing the back of his head.

You sputter. Hyungwon groans at all the noise and falls back into the sheets, his pert ass in the air.

You wince and briskly walk into the living room. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” you ramble on, pacing awkwardly. “I'm just staying here for the night.”

Wow, ok. Lets just make ourselves sound as loose as possible.

“ _Oh, ok, right…”_  Namjoon has a case of the rambling idiot too, apparently, and you can't decide if you want to correct yourself or if that would make it worse.

“I meant-”

_“So, um-”_

You both speak over each other, stopping and then falling into the weirdest silence, one where you can hear his deep breathing and your lack of inhalation. After what seems like an eternity, he has mercy on you.

“ _I wanted to apologize for Yoongi’s behavior,”_  he says smoothly, but firmly, as if he's trying to convince himself that this is the right course of action.

“It's fine,” you assure, biting your lip. “Everyone is dealing with all this weirdness in their own way.”

Namjoon lets out a little chuckle filled with exhaustion and it's then that you're reminded of the early hour. Had he been bothered by the dinner incident all night? So much that he couldn't sleep?

Why did that flatter you?

“ _Actually, that's exactly why I'm calling. Jungkook won't come out of his room. He’s completely locked us out and won't answer his phone. Normally, we don't like to get the managers involved, but we really need to check on him.”_

“Ok…” You really don't know what else to say to that. Did he expect you to ask about the youngest? Did Namjoon just want someone to vent to?

Another nervous chuckle filters through the phone. _“Um, don't be upset, but could you check on him for us? You know, since you can teleport and all… apparently…”_

Once again, this night (morning?) has brought a surprise. It takes you a few moments of openly gawking and blinking to actually respond. Part of you is like, “Hell no. Don't get involved like this!”, while the other part is like “Yes, bitch, this is another chance to do your job!”.

It's not everyday that you get not two, but three, chances to un-fuck up something.

From the other room, the gentle rustle of sheets catches your ear along with Hyungwon’s steady breathing. Outside, the sun dares to peak over the horizon, trying desperately to break the darkness.

You card a hand through your hair, suck in a deep breath, and wait. You just…. wait. Wait for Namjoon to hang up, for you to come to your senses, for some sign from the universe telling you what to do, how to proceed.

The worst part about the whole situation wasn't the morbidity, it was the way that these men just inherently trusted you. As if their first thought hadn't strayed to negativity, but rather an optimistic outlook, even in the face of death. Their life had been charmed for the most part, so this made sense. When you were living your dream, why would you ever believe that it would end?

But your short existence in the afterlife was anything but a dream. It wasn't exactly a nightmare either. It was mundane, ritualistic, so…. predictable. Everyday for the foreseeable future was nothing but an endless cycle, a balance.

It was stark, cold reality.

Did you dare let that reality shatter BTS’ beautiful dream?

“I'll be right there,” you hear yourself say, though you swore the words were merely thoughts.

A strange, creeping numbness settles over you. Namjoon responds, you're sure, but you don't hear it. In fact, the next few minutes are like a blur, each second blending into one another until you find yourself standing in the foyer of BTS’ lavish apartment.

“That was fast,” Namjoon teases, rubbing sleep from his slanted eyes. In the dim lighting, his skin is a rich, deep caramel, his voice like rough leather. He’s in a hoodie and baggy sweatpants, bear-shaped slippers covering his feet. Cocking his head, he smiles, dimples coming out to play, but oddly, you can't enjoy the sight.

Your forearm itches, but it doesn't burn just yet.

“Jungkook?” you prod, and Namjoon’s smile drops at your bluntness.

“Oh yeah. He's this way.”

The walk to Jungkook’s room isn't long, but you can't help but stare intently at the back of Namjoon’s head, noticing the downslope of his broad shoulders, the somber, heavy gait with which he walks. You bite your lip and look away. Your forearm continues to itch, teasing your resolve.

If you stay long enough, you know their names will appear. Somehow, you just _know_.

And this time you couldn't turn a blind eye.

Namjoon stops in front of an innocuous-looking door made of nice, glossy wood. A tiny chalkboard is hung on the surface and white syllables form the maknae’s name along with random scrawling messages from the other members meant to be humorous and uplifting.

Without looking at Namjoon, whose heavy gaze sets your skin on fire, you splay your hand on the door and shut your eyes tightly. Within seconds, you're inside the room and the smell of ocean assaults you. You breathe in heavily, enjoying the gentle tang before finally opening your eyes to take in the sight before you.

The first thing you notice is that Jungkook is nowhere to be seen, but evidence of him lies over every surface of the space. Between the elements of design, there are signs of a typical young man. Video game cases lie scattered on the floor next to piles of clothing. Headphone cords tangle with pencils strewn next to sketchbooks on a messy desk. The tv mounted in the wall is turned on, playing some variety show re-runs, but the sound is muted. The window blinds are open, spilling light onto an unmade bed. Still, the smell of the ocean lingers, drowning you in a peace your mind desperately tries to refute.

There’s a gurgling noise emanating from a doorway to your right and you carefully make your way further into the room, watching the placement of your feet as you avoid objects on the floor.

Attached to Jungkook’s room is a small bathroom, and that's where you find the man, sprawled out on the white tile in nothing but his grey boxers. He’s awake, but barely, hooded eyes staring up at the ceiling in a dazed trance. His pale lips are parted, giving way to shallow breaths. Beyond him, the bathtub is filled with water, bubbles, and the smell of seawater.

For a minute, you observe, just as you would before one of your clients succumbs to fate. You're standing in the doorway, hesitant to act, because you can feel it: the burn of his name staining your flesh.

And then your premonition comes true and you're faced with the grim reality.

Jeon Jungkook will die today.

This is how it begins. This is how they will end.

Leaning down, you brush the sweaty hair off his paling skin, and look deep into his chocolate eyes. Jungkook barely registers your presence, but his pupils dilate when your shadow impairs his vision.

“What happened?” you question, but you can tell by the awkward angling of his body that he slipped and fell, possibly breaking a bone and jarring open any wounds from the accident. Due to the contusions on his torso and the parlor of his skin, you could assume some form of internal bleeding, but you're a grim reaper, not a doctor.

Jungkook’s long lashes flutter at your question but he doesn't look away from the ceiling. He sucks in several gravelly breathes, his chest heaving from the effort, before he finally answers.

“Black.”

Your fingers pause on his forehead, a tendril of his dark hair still woven between your fingers. “What?”

Now Jungkook finally looks at you, and if he recognizes you, his blank face doesn't portray it. “It was black,” he repeats, parched, flaky lips a putrid ashen color. “Black…. blur.”

You sit up, dropping your hands away to survey the ground. There is no water, no rug, nothing for a capable man to slip on. In fact, the distance to the tub is short and not remotely hazardous in the least bit.

How could he have fallen and injured himself so severely?

“Black blur,” Jungkook rasps out again, his eyes threatening to cross. With each labored breath, the skin of your forearm burns, twists, and contorts, begging you to take this soul.

But something is not right.

This isn't a natural death; this is forced, but not by a mortal. The door to this room was locked on the inside by Jungkook himself. Something…. _else_  was responsible for this accident.

“Black,” Jungkook huffs out, and this time he lifts an arm and tries in vain to paw at your velvet jacket, but he’s too weak, and his limb falls uselessly to the tile with a harsh thud.

 _Black_.

Could it be…. a black reaper? Had your superiors caught on to your predicament and tried to remedy the situation themselves? But Zero had assured that The Black Reapers didn't exist.

There’s a rustle behind you, emanating deep from with Jungkook’s room. You rise, craning your head to see past the doorway, but something grabs onto the hem of your dress.

“No,” Jungkook croaks, eyes crazed, body trembling. “He…. get.. you…”

The man’s eyes are impossibly wide, terrified and imploring you to stay. And that's when it hits you, the sudden confidence that this death is not fated and that something far more complicated is occurring.

With great effort, you tear away from Jungkook, whose tears are now spilling over into the floor, and throw open the bedroom door, eyes falling onto Namjoon. The rapper stands still, apprehensive, but there is no time for hesitation.

“Call for help now,” you order, ignoring the burning of your skin once again. By now it's become such an accustomed feeling that it hardly even fazes you. “He needs help right now, but he’ll be ok. Sorry, but I need to leave before they get here.”

Namjoon jumps at the demand, hovering halfway in Jungkook’s room and halfway into the hallway. He suddenly looks wide awake despite the heavy eye bags betraying him. “Wait, whats going on? Can't you save him yourself?”

You stop in your tracks, turning to the rapper with heavy eyes. “I wish I could,” you whisper, feeling tears burn hotter than the syllables on your arm. The next words out of your mouth are bitter but they also taste like the truth. “But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak, but seconds later, you're gone.

 


	5. AWAKE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s my truth,
> 
> I will be covered in wounds all over,
> 
> But it’s my fate.

“So let me get this straight,” Hyungwon begins, his long fingers unwrapping the steaming foil of his sweet potato.

The both of you are settled on a wide wooden bench outlooking the Han River. There is still a slight chill in the air since it's early, but such a thing never deters Reapers.

“You were invited on a dinner date with BTS so they could thank you for saving their lives, but you really went with the intent of taking their souls, and then you panicked and left?”

You let out a heavy sigh, still cradling your own sweet potato in your hands. A few feet away the nice vender who had given it to you eyes you and your friend curiously. “You forgot the part where Yoongi almost had a heart attack,” you add sardonically, watching as Hyungwon practically inhales his food.

Your friend lets out a snort, his mouth full of hot mushy orange. “Oh yes, how could I forget that?” he teases, polishing off his potato. He crunches up the aluminum wrapper and aims for a trash can a few feet away. He misses, pouting ungracefully until the street vendor rushes over to pick up his trash, smiling brightly at Hyungwon as she does so.

You wonder if your friend will ever use his handsomeness for good instead of evil.

Oh yeah, that reminds you….

“Wait a minute,” you intone, eyeing your friend seriously. “Why am I the only one getting scolded? What about you and Wonho?”

Hyungwon merely cocks his head at your question before his eyes wander to the potato in your hand. “Are you gonna eat that?”

He reaches for the vegetable but you pull it away out of his reach. “So let me get this straight,” you echo his earlier statement. “You've been stalking Wonho at a coffee shop until one day he confronts you about how you look remarkably like his ex-band member and your idea is to take him to a club and get shit-faced?”

Pursing his lips, Hyungwon crosses his long arms and looks towards the river. His eyes are glassy and dark even in the bright sunlight. “It was just supposed to be one drink but I got nervous.”

You open your mouth to ask the obvious question- _Why?_ \- but your friend sucks in a deep breath as if he’s about to unload some long-buried secret. A few moments of silence pass before he’s ready to speak again.

“A couple of months ago, I ran into a Reaper from the Gwangju area. She was in Seoul looking for someone in particular and when I pressed, she broke down and told me that the man she was looking for was someone from her past life.”

You blink repeatedly before swallowing back your anxiety. “But how is that possible? We don't remember our pasts. You only have an idea of yours because you were famous.”

Hyungwon furrows his brows underneath his sweeping caramel bangs. He worries his plump bottom lip before continuing. “She said that she saw him one day while he was traveling in Gwangju and she just _knew_ ,” he explains. “She had followed him to Seoul because there’s a legend that the kiss of a mortal from your past life could restore your memories….. it could also save your soul.”

There’s a tense silence that stretches between you both after the powerful statement, and it's all you can do to stare at the river and the beginnings of the bustle of the city trickling in.

What exactly was your friend trying to tell you? Was he chasing after Wonho for a friendship long gone or something more?

You want to press him further, but you know your friend very well, and how underneath that beautiful facade lies a sensitive soul. Instead, you opt for an easier point of conversation.

“Did she find the man she was looking for?” you ask, bringing your attention back to Hyungwon’s blank face. He’s wringing his hands together roughly.

“No, he was on my client list earlier that day,” he laments, looking down at the leaf-covered sidewalk. “She was too late. He died alone.”

You're not sure where the sudden pang of sadness comes from, but it's there, constricting your chest and rendering you momentarily speechless. Hyungwon seems to notice your lack of response and his hand finds yours, winding his long fingers with your trembling ones. He doesn't offer any words of comfort, but you're not sure what you want to hear anyway.

Silently, you offer him your sweet potato and a small smile spreads over his lips. He begins to eat slowly, much more contemplative than earlier and you take his time to think over the events of the past few days.

“Oppa,” you begin, readying yourself for the next topic of conversation. Hyungwon makes a little sound of interest, his eyebrows peaking. “I think the Black Reapers are real. I think they're after BTS.”

Hyungwon stops eating, his mouth puffy from the food contained within. He whips his head towards you and cocks it, not bothering to swallow. “You saw them?” he asks with wide eyes and sweet potato sitting in his mouth. He swallows violently. “How do you know?”

“There was another incident with Jungkook. He was dying, but it didn't look _normal_ ,” you explain, facing the river. “He kept muttering about seeing something black that tried to hurt him. He was locked in his room alone when it happened.”

You turn to Hyungwon and let out a sigh. “This is getting more complicated, isn't it? I could've just done my job and maybe this could've all been avoided and the Black Reapers wouldn't have gotten involved.”

Your friend doesn't reply right away, finishing off your potato and crunching the wrapper just as he had the one before. When he aims towards the trash can this time, he doesn't miss.

“ _Jagi_ , maybe the Black Reapers aren't the result of your problem. Maybe they're the cause of it,” Hyungwon suggests, dark eyes boring into yours.

For some reason, you had never considered that. And just like that, your world tilts dangerously and your phone weighs heavy in your pocket.

* * *

 

The smell of kimchi always turns your stomach, but you're on a mission, so you endure the pungent odor.

“Sorry about this, but I like the process,” Reaper Two explains, her arms covered in long rubber gloves as she practically dives into the tub in front of her. You watch her move the cabbages around, coating them in the aromatic red sauce. “I have a feeling that making kimchi was something I did a lot in a past life.”

You nod solemnly, getting comfortable in the backroom of the small family restaurant. You're not sure if Two breaks into this place every so often to make kimchi or if she actually works here. As strange as it sounds, she wouldn't be the first Reaper with a part time job.

Two takes note of your silence and cocks her head, pulling back from the tub. “So why are you here? Don't you and that overgrown praying mantis have plans to braid each other's hair or something?” she scoffs, eyes flickering to the floor at her own insult.

Normally you would be offended but it was painfully obvious that she was attracted to Hyungwon and tried to hide her feelings defensively. Either that, or she was just hostile to the idea of Reapers being good friends.

“We already did that for today,” you retort out of spite before taking a deep breath and focusing on your true intent. “Look, can you tell me everything you know about the Black Reapers?

Two stills, her smug smile fading away until her eyes become hollow. “Why?” she questions, voice wavering.

You clear your throat and shrug casually. “Well, you mentioned it at the meeting and I realized that I still don't know a lot about them, so I figured that I would ask.”

If she bought your explanation, you wouldn't know because one moment she’s on the floor, studiously marinating those cabbages and the next she is peeling off her gloves and untying her stained apron.

“Wait!” you plead, following her through the twists and turns of the stainless steel kitchen. “Was it something I said?”

Two stops abruptly, whirling around to face you. “Tell me why you want to know and I'll tell you what you need to know.” Her eyes bore into you, burning your resolve. In your peripheral, her hands are shaking limply by her sides.

“I'm just curious.”

“Bullshit.”

You hold your ground, staring back with as much animosity as you can muster, but it's nothing compared to the unwavering fear in her eyes.

“I…. I might've had one interfere with a client,” you finally confess, hoping to some deity that Two doesn't immediately seek out your superior and get you sent straight to Hell right then.

But instead of the mockery you expect, Two backs away slowly, eyeing you with extreme caution. Her eyes are so wide and so dark, you can see your own shocked expression reflected in them.

“How recently?” she asks, swallowing back something in her throat.

You sigh heavily and rub your eyes. “Like, twenty-four hours?”

Two lets out a gasp, nearly sinking to her knees. She stays crouched over, slick palms on the tops of her thighs as she breathes in slowly. “How did the client die?” she finally queries, still staring at the floor in surprise.

Confused, you quirk a brow and wring your hands. “He didn't,” you explain slowly, feeling every syllable as it leaves your lips. “I couldn't let that happen. It was… unnatural.”

Two collapses then, buckling onto the grungy laminate flooring. Her hands splay out to catch her weight precariously. “They were supposed to be a myth,” she mutters softly. “They weren't supposed to come back.”

“What?” You lean down to look your colleague in the eyes, but she ardently avoids your gaze.

“Where is he now?” she asks, lips trembling.

“Back home I think.” The truth was, you didn't really know. Namjoon had texted saying that Jungkook was fine and not to worry, but you weren't sure if he was still at he hospital or if he had been treated at the apartment.

Two suddenly grabs your shoulders, yanking you away from your thoughts. Her eyes are desperately searching your face, wide with disbelief, but it's her cold voice that seeps into your bones.

“Whatever you do, don't leave him alone,” she whispers hotly. “Don't leave him in the dark.”

* * *

 

After the fifth attempt at calling Namjoon, you begin to worry. Sure, you don't exactly call him often, much preferring to speak but though text, but it was an emergency. Surely the man would at least notice his phone freaking out.

You text him a short message asking him to call you when he can, then you exit the restaurant into the cool night air. Sure, you could teleport back to BTS’ apartment or the nearest hospital, but you weren't currently invisible and who knew if they had staff or mangers with them? Your sudden appearance would be nearly impossible to explain.

No, it was better to wait until Namjoon could give you the clear and then you would go. For now however, you would simply wander the streets anxiously, restless.

Two had promised to explain more once she was certain that a Black Reaper really was the cause of your client’s near death, but not a moment before. She had said the knowledge was too risky, that it would make you a target. When you had asked her if she was a target, her expression turned into one of pure anguish, of horror and regret.

You never wanted to see such an emotion ever again.

Just as you begin to wander, passing by street vendors packing up their wares for the night, your phone chimes loudly, and you clamber to answer it, breathless.

But instead of a call, an awaiting text greets your eyes.

You must've assumed it would be Namjoon, so the bold syllables spelling out **UNKNOWN**  unsettles you. Quickly, you open the message.

> **UNKNOWN** : You're harder to follow when you teleport around. I prefer this nice walk we are taking, don’t you?

You immediately begin to whirl around, searching for the stranger following you on the streets. But all that greets your eyes is an old man selling socks and a couple arguing loudly about politics. But just because you can't see your stalker, doesn't mean they can't see you.

> **You** : Come out so we can talk.

Even though you're disturbed, you would much rather this creeper come right out and say what he wants rather than toy with you. No one had your number except for Reapers and Namjoon, so you were certain whoever this was had to be supernatural in some respect.

You had always imagined Black Reapers to be like ghosts or demons, but maybe they were just as humanoid as you. Maybe they too had afterlives and drank coffee. And maybe one of them had decided to fuck with you after saving Jungkook.

> **UNKNOWN** : Ah, it's easy to be tough when you're already dead, isn't it? But I won't keep you long. I just have one simple question: What do you want with BTS?

Well, this is certainly unexpected. If this was indeed a Black Reaper, wouldn't they be furious that you thwarted their plans at killing them? Or maybe they were asking why you bothered to save them in the first place….

> **You** : I have a job to do. What do you want with BTS?

You wait anxiously for a reply, but one never comes. Nearly an hour passes and you're tempted to send another reply, but you've already had enough excitement for one night.

After on final glance at your phone, you teleport back to your apartment, ignoring flicking on the lights in favor of anxiously pacing the beige carpet.

Should you call Hyungwon? Would he even know what to do?

You peel off your light jacket and toss it into the laundry basket, promising yourself that you'll finally wash the stain off of the left sleeve. Your phone falls out and tumbles to the floor and once again you're greeted with a blank screen.

It had been hours since you had called Namjoon, and even though none of the band’s names had begun to burn into your arm, you had a sick feeling rising in your gut. Two’s ominous warning bounces around in your head until you can no longer stand it.

_“Don't leave him in the dark.”_

You have to check up on Jungkook, at least to ease your own mind.

It's a nagging suspicion, but you're almost certain that he’s in the hospital after the incident. The bruising and dehydration alone would warrant some kind of medical attention, so you decide to try your luck there. Just a quick peek to be sure he is at least being watched by his band members or managers and then you could rest easy.

If he wasn't at the hospital, then you would bite the bullet and pop in at the apartment to check on him. You preferred the earlier solution; the least amount of interaction with your clients was necessary if you were to maintain professionalism.

Throwing on a low-key pair of jeans and a hoodie, you teleport to the hospital closest to BTS’ apartment, slipping inside the doors with ease. Since you were visible, you had to be creative getting to Jungkook’s room; you knew that the nurses wouldn't be giving out that information easily.

Instead, you hang back, pretending to be waiting for someone near the lobby restrooms and watching for the telltale signs that an idol or celebrity was present in the hospital.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, you notice several security staff loitering around the elevators. They're trying their best to look casual, but you've caught on to their careful composure and practiced gaze.

A doctor approaches them, speaks in whispers and then moves onto find a nurse at the station.

“Call up to trauma and let them know that the patient in 303 needs to be moved with twenty-four hours.”

So room 303 it was. Now it was just about getting inside unseen.

Luckily (or unfortunately for your new client), a name blossoms across your forearm as you walk the corridors, and you feel yourself begin to fade into spirit form. You duck around a corner and become invisible, quickly locating the client on this floor.

It's an elderly man who has just taken his last breath, whose spirit is watching you curiously while his family gathers around his physical body in his room.

“You got a cigarette?” his spirit asks you, tentatively following you down the hallway.

“Jung Woo Bin?” you ask, reading the hangul off your arm.

“That's me,” the man replies, seemingly bored. He coughs violently, and you figure that he must've been a heavy smoker.

You stop and turn towards a set of doors that leads to a small balcony for family members to relax while their loved ones are in surgery. “Great,” you dismiss nonchalantly, pointing towards the balcony. “Why don't you get some air and I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.”

The old man scoffs and mutters under his breath. “I'm dead. Where the hell would I go?”

“You would be surprised,” you reply, springing down the hallway and up the stairs to the third floor.

Jungkook's room is right next to the stairwell and easy to spot. There is security everywhere, far more then when all the members of the band had been present. It's strange, but you suppose they have become increasingly more concerned after each near-death incident.

You slip past them and through the door, careful to pop in the doorway and linger near the wall. You just want to check up on him, not initiate a conversation. Of course you need to know more about what Jungkook saw, but now wasn't the right time.

Instead of the man peacefully resting in his bed, you are greeted by the sight of two bodies, curled into each other beneath the sheets.

Jungkook is napping, but Yoongi is holding him, running his long fingers through the younger’s fine hair, staring at the wall with a blank expression. He is turned slightly away from you, so you don't dare move to attract attention.

You're content to just watch, in awe of the tender moment. Yoongi seems so…. soft, so caring of the younger, moving his fingers with such diligence. Every so often, he shifts his position to let Jungkook cuddle further into his folded body but then he resumes soothing the other. It's dim, but the lamp from the nightstand is on, casting a warm glow on the both of them.

It's such a stark contrast from the last visit you had made; whereas the first time you saw them in the hospital, it had been eerily calm and they had resembled battered victims, this scene was much more raw even though Jungkook was faring much better.

“Hyung.” Jungkook’s whisper barely penetrates the silence, but it's there.

Yoongi hums deep in his throat, still leisurely playing with the other’s hair.

“Do you ever think about death?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Yoongi stops his ministrations and looks down at the younger, holding his gaze.

You're still in the shadows, but you can feel the shift in the air. You can feel how intimate the moment has become.

“You know I do,” Yoongi replies, unblinking. “You know I think about it more often nowadays.”

Jungkook nods his head softly and closes his eyes. “But it's different, isn't it? When you want to die and when you suddenly might.”

Yoongi finally blinks, as if he isn't quite sure that he heard the other correctly. He smiles, small and sad, never once looking away from the other.

“Yes, it's much different,” he relents. His voice trembles. “You think of things that you've never thought of before. You realize what you truly want in that moment. If you want to go or stay.”

Opening his eyes, Jungkook lets out a sigh. “And what did you realize that you wanted? When you thought it was over?”

Yoongi doesn't answer. His small lips purse together tightly, as if he’s afraid of the truth spilling out.

The two stay like that for some time, and if Jungkook is bothered by Yoongi’s lack of response, he doesn't show it, instead drifting off to sleep slowly.

Time passes before he speaks next, knocking Yoongi out of his light slumber.

“The moon was upside down,” Jungkook nonsensically states, head lolling back into the pillows as his eyes flutter shut.

After that, nothing more is spoken.

It's late by the time you retrieve your client at the balcony. He gives you an annoyed look before you read off the incantation, confirming his identity and passing him off to the next realm. His soul leaves without much fanfare and though you should feel good that your job might be returning to normal, you can't help but feel on edge.

Something strange is happening. Something that may require more than a little fixing. Between your unknown taunter earlier and the “something” coming after BTS, things were getting risky.

Maybe you should tell one of your superiors?

You could let them handle it, but somehow the very thought turns your stomach.

“Hey!”

A sudden shout on the street captures your attention. Your first instinct is to run, but then the man is laughing cheerfully, jogging towards you with his hands in his pockets.

Under the streetlight, Wonho’s face becomes clear even beneath the face mask. He seems to be in a good mood, unaware of your tumultuous life.

“I thought I recognized you,” he chirps, rosy cheeks flashing above the mask momentarily. “Want to grab some coffee and talk? I'm just out for an early morning run, but I can't stay too long.”

You wonder if he knows that you're very much aware of his occupation. Does he always make a habit of leaving the safety of his company's dorms this early in the day? And besides, shouldn't he be asking about Hyungwon?

“Um…”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you nod apologetically to Wonho before fishing it out and checking the message.

> **UNKNOWN** : Making new friends? Does he know how dangerous you are?

You visibly jump and Wonho takes notice.

“Are you ok?” he asks, holding you steady as your knees threaten to buckle while you frantically scan the street.

You mutter under your breath, trying to calm yourself. You suspected it earlier, but now you're certain that something or someone is watching you closely, close enough to witness Wonho run into you mere seconds ago.

Close enough to completely shake the confidence of a grim reaper.

> **UNKNOWN** : Go ahead and have fun on your little coffee date. I can wait…. 
> 
>  

 

 


	6. MOVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While taking the last box out of the empty room,
> 
> I looked back for a moment.
> 
> Times we cried and laughed...
> 
> Goodbye now.

Wonho stares at you curiously over his cup of steaming americano.

“Are you sure you're ok? You seem on edge,” he prods softly, eyes wide above his face mask. He pulls it down to take a sip from his coffee.

The cafe you're in is small and local, but he still feels the need to hide his identity, which you completely understand. If only you could do the same and avoid whoever was seemingly following you. If only you were mortal and things were only as complicated as ordering a latte.

“I'm fine,” you feign, holding your warm mug with two hands. “I was just surprised at what time it was, that's all.”

Wonho nods slightly, still watching you in suspicion. You had rushed him into the coffee shop rather quickly after receiving another anonymous text and to be honest, you are still paranoid. But until you could make sense of the entire creepy situation, there was no use in talking to a stranger about it, especially one that you couldn't afford to find out your real identity.

But were you and Wonho still considered strangers at this point?

“Why did you ask to get coffee with me?” you inquire suddenly as the thought pops into your head.

Wonho sputters around a sip then places his cup back on the water-stained wooden table. “Well, I, uh…,” he begins before clearing his throat. “I saw you walking and I thought it would be a great opportunity to talk to you about Hyungwon.”

You arch a brow then let out a small chuckle. “Sorry about the other night. Hyungwon can be impulsive sometimes,” you explain coolly. “I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again.”

“Well that will be difficult.” It's Wonho’s turn to laugh, cheeks bunching up. “You know, since he auditioned at my agency yesterday.”

You're in mid-sip of your coffee, but you freeze, letting the hot liquid sear your tongue. When you do finally manage to swallow, your voice comes out hoarse and high-pitched.

“What? Auditioned?”

Nodding, Wonho elaborates. “Yeah, he called me up yesterday morning and asked if I could arrange an audition at Starship for him. It took some effort but I did and apparently it went well. Management wants to see him again.”

You're speechless…. and seething.

How could Hyungwon do something like this? He didn't even mention it to you but that's not the most upsetting part.

He knew what this could mean. Wonho and the rest of Monsta X were apart of his past life and as a Reaper, it was inappropriate to insert himself into their present lives. Not only was he risking his identity but he was risking their lives by getting so close.

“I know you don't know enough about me to trust me,” Wonho begins, capturing your attention. “But I don't intend to hurt Hyungwon. He seems like a decent guy and I'm happy to make new friends and help them out.”

“Are you sure you're not just doing this because Hyungwon looks like your dead friend?” you retort before you can think better. You know it's harsh and cruel, but you can't let this happen. You can't let Hyungwon chase after something that will only bring him immense pain.

And judging by the hope in Wonho’s eyes, that's exactly what he was doing as well. But as harsh as your words are, reality is much harsher.

Wonho casts his eyes to the table and shifts in his seat. “Uh, well that may have something to do with it, but like I said, Hyungwon is a good guy,” he admits, playing with his hands. “Do you know how many times I watched him buy coffee for homeless people? Or how many days he waited to approach me at the coffee shop?”

You open your mouth, but Wonho gestures for you to let him continue.

“I know he was practically stalking me but he never once forced himself on me. He waited until I approached him first before asking me to get a drink with him and I think that's worth something.”

Wonho trails off, looking away wistfully while letting out a heavy sigh. You can feel the beginnings of something forming on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't go any further. Instead he looks back to you with more hope, more _need_  and you're reminded of just how in-human you are.

No matter what Wonho wants out of Hyungwon, it doesn't change anything. Hyungwon is dead, so are you, and if you both keep trying to pretend you're more than that, then things could become even more dangerous.

“I'm sorry, but I have to get home,” you apologize, rising to your feet. You leave some won on the table for the shop owner, mainly out of pity, then you turn to leave.

“Wait.”

Wonho gently tugs on your wrist and you're certain he is about to confront you about Hyungwon, about how strange both of you act, but then he’s pulling up the hood of his jacket and leading you outside.

“I'll walk you home,” he states, already pulling you into the street. “Do you live far from here?”

He lets go of you, but somehow his presence is still holding you captive. “It's fine,” you assure, waving your hands around. “You can go back to your dorm now. I'm sure you have a busy day ahead.”

Pulling down his mask, Wonho cracks a smile. “Ah, so you're aware that I'm more than just a trainee.”

“It's not hard to figure out.”

Your brash statement earns another tinkling laugh from the man and it's almost as if all the tension from earlier has dissolved completely.

“Well, what kind of idol would I be if I let a pretty young woman walk home alone in the early morning?” Wonho questions half-heartedly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Besides, Hyungwon would be upset if something happened to you. You know, when he was drunk he wouldn't shut up about you. I couldn't decide if you were his girlfriend or bratty little sister.”

You can't help but laugh at that, finding yourself falling in stride with Wonho as you make your way towards your apartment. It's really not that far if you're used to walking but it is still dark. To refuse Wonho would make you seem suspicious and now you're also very curious about how much Hyungwon has been in contact with the man.

As you walk, Wonho makes pleasant conversation, hinting at past talks with Hyungwon but never outright declaring how often the two communicate or why. By the time you set foot on your street, the both of you have entered a comfortable lull in the conversation, listening to the waking sounds of the city.

You reach your building and Wonho offers to walk you up to your door, which you're hesitant to accept. But you do, if only to speed up the entire encounter, but you're certainly not prepared to see a figure lurking outside your door.

It's a man definitely, clad in a long black trench coat, dark wash denim and sleek shoes. He's wearing a wide-brimmed fedora and a mask, but you would recognize those deep-angled eyes anywhere.

“Namjoon?”

The man jumps at the mention of his name and then he's startled once more by your company. He pulls down the mask and squints his eyes. “Wonho-ssi?” he inquires, looking the other man over.

Wonho bows slightly but looks otherwise just as confused as Namjoon.

Namjoon returns the bow but then everything falls into an awkward silence, all three of you standing in front of your door in the wee hours of the morning. After several terse moments, you dig your key out of your jacket and incline your head towards the door.

“Well, thanks for walking me home, Wonho.”

“No problem,” the man replies, stiffly waving his goodbye before turning and heading back towards the elevator.

You watch him go then turn to Namjoon with an arched brow. “How do you know where I live?”

The man laughs, but at least he has the courtesy to flush with embarrassment. “The staff might've figured it out ever since we claimed you were Jin’s cousin,” he explains sheepishly, as if he is worried you might explode on him.

You cock your head in bewilderment. “So they know I'm not his cousin?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, you're still good. I figured it all out for you, but look, we need to talk. I might have broken my phone so I couldn't call…”

“Might have?” you tease, cracking a smile at the way he's getting flustered.

Namjoon blushes profusely, his caramel skin burning with a rosy sheen. “Ok, so it was in my back pocket and I sat on it. It cracked in half.” He smiles widely, as if the action will excuse his embarrassing behavior, but it just ends up making him look more endearing.

“So….” he toes the ground nervously before hiking his thumb towards the door. “Can we go in and talk?”

“Sure, just don't break anything.”

The playful groan that Namjoon emits holds a warmth and familiarity that you can't help but smile at.

* * *

 

The afternoon breeze caresses your face, bringing with it the familiar mix of scents only the city could provide. It's cloying and potent, but it grounds you amongst the words pinging around in your head.

_“Will you move in with us?”_

Namjoon had been so uncomfortable asking the question, but even more alarming than the suggestion had been his explanation.

Because of the strange events surrounding the band, including Jungkook’s recent injuries, management wanted medical personnel to move into the boys’ massive apartment. They certainly had the space and the need, but Namjoon had seemed wary of the situation.

_“It's not that I don't trust our staff, but we both know things are different now. Something strange is happening to us and you've been there to save us every time. I think… I think I would rather have you there.”_

You sigh heavily as you recall the anxiety so plainly written on his face- the way he worried his plump bottom lip and the nervous fidgeting of his fingers along the hem of his shirt. It struck you then just how much pride he must've put aside to ask such a thing of you. You didn't know him particularly well, but he seemed like the type of man to suppress his fears just for the sake of being strong for the others.

To be so vulnerable in front of you….

He must be terrified of their situation.

Running your hands through your hair, you quietly slip back inside your apartment, closing the balcony door with a click. You throw yourself onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling in wonder.

You told Namjoon that you needed time to think over his offer, but the answer was clear, right?

You had to say no. Things were getting way too personal for your taste. Sure, the Black Reapers were after BTS and something or someone was stalking you, but at the end of the day, you were a grim reaper not a superhero. Your job was simplistic and morbid and nothing could change that.

More and more you were becoming convinced that nothing could change fate either. Just like Hyungwon’s story about the Reaper looking for someone from her past….

Maybe it was too late. Maybe BTS was just a passing glance in your otherwise bleary afterlife, a speck of dust floating away in the afternoon sunlight meant to be forgotten. To move in with them would complicate things exponentially, risking your real identity and their lives.

That was that. Your mind was made up.

As you are mulling over your existence on the couch, the tell-tale shifting of the air signals Hyungwon’s arrival. The man teleports right into your living room, looking like a model out of a catalogue, holding several shopping bags. His presence instantly sets you on edge but you intend on giving him the benefit of the doubt before confronting him.

He's your best friend; there's no way he intended on keeping you ignorant of his actions.

“Damn, these are too heavy,” Hyungwon complains, pouting as he drops the bags to the floor. “I need an assistant or something.” He shoots his gaze over to you and breaks into a huge grin.

“Oh no, I'm not gonna carry your shit around all day,” you retort, though you smile back.

Hyungwon puffs out a bit of air that tousles his long bangs. “Fine, be that way. I'll just risk injury every time. It's no big deal. I just thought you cared,” he teases, busying himself with unpacking his shopping haul, and fully intending on showing you his new clothes.

“Anything interesting happen lately?”

You can't help it, you're curious to see if Hyungwon will confess his little secret. Maybe he was just waiting until the right time. Maybe he had a great reason behind it all.

“Interesting?” Hyungwon repeats, brandishing a pair of black denim skinny jeans which he inspects carefully. He doesn't meet your gaze. “Not really…. Oh! That one old guy that walks the park everyday finally kicked the bucket. Though you won't believe how it happened-”

“Anything else?” you cut off, gripping the arm of the couch tightly.

You know Hyungwon well enough by now to know when he intends on disclosing something. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those occasions.

Your friend freezes, jeans in hand, before he folds the clothing up and sets it on the table neatly. His long fingers remain splayed over the fabric as he takes a deep breath.

Was this it? Was he going to tell you?

“No. Nothing else.”

You feel your stomach drop, any semblance of a smile fading from your features. Hyungwon won't look at you and you suddenly feel so alienated from the only person you truly care about.

A few moments tick by as you watch your friend intently, hoping that it won't end this way, that at any moment he'll open up that sarcastic mouth of his and draw you closer once more instead of pushing you away.

You're not jealous of Wonho, but you can't help but feel like Hyungwon is trying to replace you, replace this afterlife you both share with something he considers better.

And maybe you also fear being left alone in this same afterlife.

When you realize that Hyungwon has no intention of furthering the conversation, you decide to take the plunge.

“Wonho invited me to have coffee with him.”

Hyungwon noticeably tenses up while trying on a new pair of sunglasses. “Oh? Are you going to go?”

“I already did,” you confess, standing up and walking towards him. “He said you auditioned at Starship.”

“I did,” Hyungwon admits, voice oddly soft. “They want me to come back. Maybe even try out my vocals with the band.”

You watch him for a few moments, noting the way he angles his long body away from you. “Do you think that's a good idea? To get involved with them like that?”

Setting the glasses down on the table, Hyungwon finally meets your eyes for the first time. In them you expect to find remorse or guilt, but instead you're met with anger.

“Did you think it was a good idea to save BTS?” your friend retorts hotly, but you dodge his obvious attempt to change the subject.

“Oppa, you can't do this,” you warn, reaching out to grab his hand. Hyungwon immediately pulls it away, hurting more than just your pride.

In his furious eyes tears have begun forming, but they don't fall just yet. “I knew you wouldn't understand,” he croaks, voice breaking from sheer frustration. “You dont know what it's like to finally feel something for once. I've felt so… so dead.. for the longest time but seeing Wonho, seeing _them_ , it makes me remember things. It makes me feel alive again.”

He wants to cry, you can sense the emotion rolling off of him in torrid waves, but he presses his lips firmly together and glares at you. His hands are shaking, face becoming redder by the second, but he won't let go. He won't understand.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat and look him straight in the eyes. “Hyungwon, you _are_  dead.”

You could elaborate but there's no need. He knows what you're implying and it tears him up inside. Now matter what he does, he will always be dead. He will never be that person again, whether he regains his memories or not. Whether he’s in the band or makes friends.

He can't go back.

Hyungwon chokes on a sob, but he swallows it down and wipes at his face. “You think you're any different, _Jagi_?” he spits, voice breaking. “You act like you know everything but you can't even see that you're no better than me. You think they care about you? BTS are _idols_  of course they are gonna be happy when someone saves their asses. They want you around to protect their perfect little lives and you're stupid enough to go along with it.”

A terrible silence ensues after Hyungwon utters the last syllable and you have to push down the urge to cry yourself.

“You don't mean that,” you whisper hotly. “Take it back, Hyungwon.”

Your friend stands tall, defiant. His lips are trembling when he replies. “No. It's the truth. You've fallen for their charm, their looks, and the kiss-ass bullshit they're feeding you. Men like that know how to get what they want. I should know, I was one-”

“You're dead, Hyungwon!” you shout, cutting off your bewildered friend. “ _You_  are not that Hyungwon and you will never be!”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to take them back and stuff them back inside before any damage can be done. But it's too late. The shock blossoming across Hyungwon’s face is heartbreaking, his face crumpling immediately.

“Get out,” he utters, his usually silky tone cold and unforgiving.

You stand your ground though your legs tremble. “It's my apartment.”

Hyungwon huffs, tonguing his cheek in disbelief. Tears crest over his cheeks. “Fine. I'll leave then.”

And just like that, your best friend disappears, leaving the remnants of his shopping spree sitting on your kitchen table. There’s no dramatic storming off or slamming the door. Just a rush of air that takes your best friend with it.

You don't know what's gotten into you. You're not normally so unbalanced, so volatile, but hearing those words come from Hyungwon feels like a knife twisting in your gut. It feels like the end of something that never even began, like dying all over again even in this bleak afterlife.

Sliding to the floor, you collapse, dumbfounded at what just happened. Why had his words hurt you so? Was it because of the spite with which they were uttered or the truth behind them?

You wanted to believe you were making a difference with BTS, that it was something more than mindless idol worship, but was your interest in them so pure? If they had been strangers on the street would you have hesitated?

And was their gratefulness sincere or just a pleasant illusion?

There was only one way to find out.

Only one way to get to the bottom of this entire fucked up situation. One way to stop the Black Reapers and regain any sense of normalcy.

The phone rings three times before Namjoon picks up. It takes him two minutes to understand what you're saying but only one second for him to ask the question that would change everything.

_“When do you want to move in?”_


End file.
